“Who?”
“Computer Accessories.”
“We don’t. We have accounts at Staples and PC Connection,” Candy said.
“And we don’t ever get stuff from Computer Accessories?”
“I’ve never heard of them. We sometimes have to get specialty items direct from the manufacturer, but maintenance items, new equipment, all that stuff comes from one of the other two.”
Isobel began to giggle. “You know what? Now I see, it’s an invoice for computer accessories from PC Connection. I think Paula needs reading glasses!”
“You want to be the one to tell her?” Candy asked.
Isobel laughed. “Not me! Sorry to bother you.”
“No problem.”
Isobel hung up and tapped her foot nervously as Nikki’s computer came to life, displaying the welcome screen.
And a password window.
Damn, thought Isobel.
If her brother Percival were here, he could hack into it before she could say embezzlement. Thinking of Percival gave her another idea, and a few moments later, she was back on the phone, this time to Richie in the IT department. She got his voice mail.
“Um, hey, Richie, it’s Isobel in Procurement Support. Do you happen to know the password to Nikki’s computer? She’s not in today, and I need to print out some invoices that are due. Thanks.”
Every few minutes, she jumped up to peer down the hall to make sure Nikki wasn’t on her way in. She saw the bearded man gesticulating angrily at a cowering delivery boy.
He’s right, thought Isobel. They should move his desk. And put a nice person in his place.
When the phone finally rang, she grabbed it.
“Richie?”
There was a pause, and then a man’s voice with a thick Brooklyn accent said, “I thought you screwed me in the back last time, but this time, you really done it!”
Isobel inhaled sharply as she recognized the hilarious malapropism from Doreen’s phone conversation on her first day. Clearly, this guy didn’t read the papers. But before she could say anything, he went on.
“Ya know who came to the house whiles I was out? The fuckin’ cops! I just wanna know one goddamn thing. No, two goddamn things! Why the fuck was I payin’ you out all that dough to keep your big, flappin’ trap shut, and how much do I get back ‘cuz you didn’t fuckin’ do it?”
Isobel glanced at the console and saw she’d answered Doreen’s extension. It took her a minute to find her voice, but when she did, she spoke as softly and steadily as she could.
“Lenny DeCarlo. I know who you are.”
“Doreen?”
“No, it isn’t Doreen. But I know all about you,” Isobel said.
“Fuckin’ bitch, what did she do, broadcast it on the news?”
“I have some information that will make you feel a whole lot better about your situation, but first you have to tell me two things.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“That doesn’t matter,” she said, maintaining her even tone. “But I can help you. First of all, I don’t care what it was about, but was Doreen Fink blackmailing you?” There was silence on the line. Isobel tried again. “Were you paying her $1,275 a month to keep your secret, whatever it is—and I don’t want to know?”
There was a pause. “Yeah,” Lenny said huskily.
“Do you know anything about anybody else she was blackmailing? Because I’ve got news for you, Lenny, you weren’t the only one.”
Lenny gave a harrumph. “Figures. I don’t know nothin’. Now what do you got to tell me?”
“Doreen is dead.”
Lenny gasped. “Are you shittin’ me?”
“That’s why the police came by. They know she was blackmailing you and several other people, but listen—she was killed here, so if you can prove you were somewhere else at one o’clock last Wednesday, you’re golden.”
“Do you know if she told anyone else about my…my secret?”
“Not that I know of. I think you’re done paying out.”
“Shit. Thanks. It was cuttin’ into little Joey’s piano lessons.”
“There’s one more thing I should tell you,” Isobel said.
“What?”
“You can’t screw someone in the back, even metaphorically speaking. You can stab them in the back or you can screw them over, but you have to pick one.”
“Shit,” Lenny said, and hung up.
Isobel stared at the receiver in her hand, which was trembling. Now there was no doubt that Doreen’s paper was a blackmail log. Nikki/Annika was playing the old Computer Accessories game at the bank, and Doreen had found out. Pretty careless of Nikki to use the same fake company name on the invoices. On the other hand, she’d never officially been caught or prosecuted the first time, so why not?
The phone rang again.
“Hey, Isobel, it’s Richie. You wanted Nikki’s password?”
“Please. I need to pull an invoice for Frank.”
“Password is Alma.”
Isobel thanked him and hung up the phone. She should have guessed. Whether Nikki was miscast or not, Alma Winemiller was a great part.
She clicked open Nikki’s hard drive, but there wasn’t a whole lot there. Certainly nothing to justify the hours Nikki spent glued to her computer. She spotted Nikki’s theater résumé and couldn’t resist sneaking a peek. There were the three plays she’d done at the Oldyard Theatre, listed right at the top. Isobel frowned. That was the one thing that still didn’t add up. How could Nikki have been in two places that summer? Isobel opened up the web browser and pulled up the theater’s website. There was Nikki’s name next to The Great Kazoo by Claude Heck, Soup and Sandwich by Helena Bauer, and Tennessee Williams’s Summer and Smoke. She wasn’t lying about that, at least. Isobel absently clicked on the lineup for next year’s season.
They were doing Lend Me a Tenor, one of the few straight plays that interested her. She clicked for more information. Oooh, no, Isobel thought. I would not want to do a complicated farce in one-week stock.
Of course.
Isobel navigated back and quickly scanned the dates of Nikki’s plays. They were all one-week runs. That meant each show rehearsed for one week and then performed for one week, and they were consecutive. So Nikki was only at Oldyard for a total of four weeks: one to rehearse Summer and Smoke, one to perform that and rehearse Kazoo, one to perform Kazoo and rehearse Soup and Sandwich, and then one more to perform Soup and Sandwich. One month. Nikki had spent a month at Oldyard, worked at Credit Exchange for two, then come back to InterBank and gotten them to employ her directly using her stage name to avoid any chance of connection to the Credit Exchange scheme.
With renewed enthusiasm, Isobel whipped down the list of files in the folder marked “Vendors.” She opened the one for PC Connection, which revealed a long list of invoices. There was nothing for Computer Accessories, but two files near the bottom of the long list caught her eye.
She held her breath and clicked on the first, which was named “Untitled.”
It was, as she had hoped, an invoice for Computer Accessories with multiple iterations piggy-backed into the same document. The amounts varied, but the bimonthly invoices seemed to date back only as far as Nikki’s current employment. Isobel grabbed a flash drive and quickly copied the file onto it. Then she clicked on the second one, which was marked “Untitled2.”
It took her a moment to figure out what she was looking at, but when she did, everything about Nikki Francis suddenly fell into place.
TWENTY-NINE
“She’s making a bloody fortune!” cried Delphi, staring the contents of Untitled2 on Isobel’s laptop.
“I know. That’s why she could afford to pay out so much to Doreen every month, even though the invoices for Computer Accessories aren’t for that much.”
“I’d like her boyfriend to be my investment advisor.”
“Tom Scaletta’s a crook,” Isobel pointed out.
“We don’t know for a fact that he’s
doing any insider trading,” Delphi said.
“We don’t have to. She’s embezzling company money, and he’s investing it.”
“That’s quite a scam.” Delphi sat back on Isobel’s air mattress. “And quite a profit.”
Isobel paced the small apartment, detouring around the furniture. “Doreen must have asked Nikki about Computer Accessories and not been satisfied with the answer. So she went snooping around on Nikki’s computer and found what I found. Richie’s pretty free with the passwords.”
“It explains how Nikki and Tom can afford bottle service,” Delphi said.
“It also explains what she sees in him. The appeal isn’t in the bedroom, it’s in the portfolio.”
“Well, it beats the hell out of waiting tables,” Delphi said, massaging her feet.
“Unless you count the jail time,” Isobel said. “I guess I’d better call Detective Kozinski.”
“You’re turning Nikki in?”
Isobel paused, cell phone in hand. “You sound surprised.”
Delphi hesitated. “Maybe you should cut her a break? I mean, she is a fellow actress.”
“Actress? I’ve got two words for you,” Isobel said tartly. “Terence Hoff.”
“Point taken. But once you call the police, it’s done.”
“You were the one who told me to give them the blackmail log!”
“But this is going to result in an arrest.”
Isobel sat down next to Delphi. “All right, what are my options?”
“You could warn Nikki and let her get out of there.”
“Is that what you would do?”
Delphi sighed and traced a seam on the wooden floor with her finger. “I don’t know. No.” She looked up at Isobel. “Do you really think she killed Doreen?”
“You know, I don’t,” Isobel said thoughtfully. “With that profit margin, it wasn’t costing Nikki that much to keep Doreen quiet.”
“Unless Doreen was threatening to raise her fee.”
Isobel snapped her fingers. “There’s something else. Nikki and I were together when Doreen left. And she went down the stairs ahead of me during the emergency drill.”
“Couldn’t she have made a beeline back up to the bathroom?”
“Swimming against the tide on the stairs? I only barely made it back up. And even if she had, there’s no way I wouldn’t have seen her.” Isobel shook her head firmly. “Nikki didn’t kill Doreen. I’m her alibi.”
“If you call, you should tell the police that.”
“What do you mean ‘if’?”
Delphi wound a wayward curl around her finger. “It’s just…weird. I’ve never been involved in the arrest of someone I know.”
“You’re not. I am,” Isobel said grimly. “But if I don’t call the police, I’m withholding evidence.”
“You’re right,” Delphi conceded. “Go for it.”
Isobel dialed Detective Kozinski’s number and left a detailed message. “There,” she said, setting down her phone. “It’s done.”
They sat in silence for a while. “I guess we won’t be invited along for bottle service,” Delphi said finally.
“No. If we’re ever deluded enough to think we want it, we’ll have to pay for it ourselves,” said Isobel. She closed her laptop and stood up. “If Nikki didn’t kill Doreen, we’d better look to Conchita and Stan. She was blackmailing them, too.”
“Stan especially, don’t you think?”
“Yes, all things considered.”
Feeling distinctly unsettled, Isobel wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There wasn’t much: a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a peach. As she washed the peach, she found herself thinking of James. She wanted to call and tell him what she’d found and what she’d done. But something was holding her back, and it wasn’t just the nasty girlfriend.
“What exactly is that going to be?” James asked, gazing at the array of ingredients lined up on the counter.
Jayla set her hands defiantly on her hips. “Chicken Marengo. Any fool could see that!”
James attempted a laugh. “You know me…I’m not just any fool.”
Jayla had cooked for him every night since his binge, and he wasn’t sure how much more his stomach could take. She refused to follow a recipe, insisting that her instincts yielded better results. It was clear that she had burned out her taste buds years ago on those same instincts. As she reached for the ketchup, he laid a restraining hand on her arm.
“You deserve a break. Let’s go out.”
Jayla’s eyes narrowed, and James knew she was trying to decide if this was an insult or an invitation to rekindle the romance. He had been cool toward her, but she had steadfastly borne his slights. A cause as worthy as James merited tenacity, and that was Jayla’s specialty. How else could the child of a single, drug-addicted mother on welfare have earned two degrees and risen to the top of a prominent consulting firm?
The storm brewing on Jayla’s face passed, and James gave an inward sigh of relief.
“All right,” she said, batting her long lashes. “Where are you taking me?”
James thought quickly. Nowhere too romantic, and nowhere with wine bottles decorating the walls.
“I know,” Jayla said. “Café Bel Sogno.”
A little pricier than he would have liked, but it would do. Besides, he was feeling a bit kinder toward Jayla, knowing he was going out with Felice on Friday. A secret date wasn’t a bad substitute for the illicit thrill of sneaking a drink. If Jayla really cared about his sobriety, she should be happy that he had a date with another woman. His circular logic made him smile.
Café Bel Sogno was more crowded than usual, and the few tables for two had just been seated. James was about to suggest they try someplace else, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He smiled when he saw who it was.
“Bill!”
Bill looked like he was amazed anyone could be so happy to see him. Then again, Bill wasn’t stuck on a pseudo-date with his bossy ex-girlfriend.
“We were going to grab a bite, but the wait’s too long for two. I just thought I’d say hello. And see how you’re doing,” Bill said meaningfully.
“Not bad. Hanging in. You know Jayla.”
She shook his hand. “Good to see you again.”
“And this is Nancy,” said Bill, gently maneuvering a petite Asian woman into the conversation.
“Since there’s a wait for small tables, why don’t we pair up and eat together?” James suggested enthusiastically.
“That would be great,” said Bill, looking distinctly relieved. The women were too polite to object, although James could feel the steam rising off Jayla’s face. Within minutes, the four of them were tucked away at a cozy four-top in the corner.
They all stared blankly at each other. There was plenty to discuss, at least as far as Bill and James were concerned, but not in company. James suddenly realized that he might have created a situation worse than being alone with Jayla. That was one thing that could be said for alcohol; it relaxed people socially. James ordered a bottle of sparkling water and tried to avoid Jayla’s eyes. She was fuming and clearly determined not to participate in the stilted conversation. After they’d covered the weather and the upcoming November elections, Nancy had the good sense to admire Jayla’s Prada handbag, her prized possession. It soon transpired that Nancy did something in high fashion. Jayla was forced to relent, and they forged ahead on this common ground.
James knew why he’d suggested they dine together, but he wondered why Bill had been so willing. Presumably, he was on a date because he wanted to be. Bill had never mentioned Nancy to him, but that didn’t mean much. All he really knew about Bill was the sad tale of his divorce and children. The meal settled into the kind of detached rhythm that comes from being thrown in with people you have no intention of socializing with ever again. They finished their main course, and Jayla and Nancy retired to the ladies’ room, chatting about the resurgence of ponchos.
James and Bill looked at ea
ch other and the strained social mask fell away.
Bill let out a long breath. “That’s a relief, isn’t it?”
James nodded. “No kidding. So, who’s Nancy?”
“Blind date. Conchita set me up. Nancy’s mom is a friend of hers. I don’t know why she thought it would work. The only thing we have in common is that we’re both single.”
Bill took an overlong sip of water, and James knew he was pretending it was vodka. He often did the same thing.
“But that’s Conchita.” Bill wiped his mouth slowly with his napkin. “She’s determined to save the world. One poor schmuck at a time.”
“Lucky for me.” James sipped his water and indulged the same alcoholic fantasy. “If she hadn’t saved you, you wouldn’t be able to save me.”
“Yeah, she’s a remarkable woman.”
“Has she saved anyone else recently?” James asked casually.
Bill tipped an ice cube into his mouth and crunched it. “Well, she’s trying. Her current project is a much bigger challenge than I ever was.”
“Who is it?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“Sure, I get it.” James nodded. “Anonymous and all that.”
“No, no, it’s not an AA person.” Bill gave a bemused chuckle. “But it’s weird. Way weird.”
“Yeah?” said James hopefully.
“Well, there’s a guy she works with…I don’t know. I shouldn’t say.”
James felt his pulse quicken. “C’mon, buddy. I’m good. Won’t tell a soul.”
Bill leaned across the table. “Okay, this guy she works with likes to dress like a woman. And that’s not all,” he said, warming to his subject. “He wants the operation!”
Suddenly, the women were back. James tried to rearrange his face, but he wasn’t quick enough for Jayla. She stared at him.
“What?” she demanded. “What did we miss?”
THIRTY
Nikki was back at her desk on Wednesday morning. She didn’t even look up when Isobel came in, which was fine, since she knew she couldn’t look Nikki in the eye after the message she’d left for Detective Kozinski. It was a testament to how frosty the silence was that Isobel went off in search of warmth and acceptance from Stan and Conchita’s quarter. Conchita was nowhere in sight, but Stan’s door was ajar, and he was rifling frantically through a desk drawer. He started in surprise when Isobel rapped gently on the door.
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