“True, and this is a non-profit without need to file with the stock exchange. But often, because they think no one is paying attention, there are clues there to be found. I’ll show you some sites I’ve bookmarked as useful. I’m no financial expert but even I’ve managed to find interesting connections, although you might not recognize them. So research anything you see, and feel free to search my files.”
He came over to study the computer screen. “We are doing this why?”
“Because bodies don’t get buried with bulldozers without the exchange of money, and Juliana won’t be hiding from you because she thinks you won’t like her hair. Something is going on out there. If nothing else, look into their expenses and see if they make sense.”
“I am not a forensic accountant,” he informed me stiffly. “I can look at statements and decide if a company is worth investing in. Non-profits are not investments.”
“But the sponsors for this one are huge investors with giant corporations behind them. If you haven’t found anything by the time we return, we’ll take another tack.” I was really biding my time, praying Graham would return so I could have his resources again. I didn’t want to tell Zander about missing girls or he’d freak.
He reluctantly took my seat. “Is this the sort of thing our mother does?”
I snorted. “She never met a computer she liked. She does her spying the most dangerous way—in person.”
I walked out before he could question. He didn’t really need to know the big bad world of spies and diplomats that Magda walked between—although his father had probably been both.
And if we continued down this treacherous path, we could be accused of the same. Every day, I came closer to walking in Magda’s shoes—which was why I was taking EG and Tudor shopping instead of hunting for Graham and researching missing girls.
I suspected Magda’s goal in life was revenge. I preferred a more positive goal—I wanted to make the world a better place, even if I had to bring down a few asshats to do so.
Chapter 9
While we were loading our grocery haul into the refrigerator, Patra texted me to check the day’s headlines.
Thinking she had scored a front page byline, I waited until we had everything put away before trotting up to read the paper. It took me a minute to scan the headlines, realize Patra didn’t have a byline, and go back to figure out what she wanted me to see. It was buried under a headline about a George Paycock, a scumbag who’d apparently been accused of embezzling funds from General Defense, a major weapons manufacturer. Old story, apparently—because this one was about Paycock having gone missing in October, about the time an audit was requested.
I’d seen Paycock’s name on JACAD’s board. He’d not only acted as CFO for General Defense, but as treasurer for the board. He would be the one in charge of CAD’s accounts—which was what this story was about. Because of Paycock’s fraud, CAD’s accounts were now under investigation.
We just might be on to something.
I sat down and read more closely. Laura Jeffrey, a VP of General Defense Industries and daughter of the CEO, had called for an in-house audit of the company’s accounts earlier in the year. The audit had uncovered a scheme of transferring funds to cover losses. The article didn’t list details like what losses or what funds. Apparently an accounting firm was now going over the details.
But Paycock had gone missing, along with the funds, over two months ago.
I whistled and trotted the paper into Zander. He was frowning thunderously at the computer. That seemed ominous, but EG and Tudor were waiting for their reward of a gift-buying binge, so I pointed out the article and left him reading.
I ran back down to the kids, who were considerately loading clothes into the washer and dryer.
“Budget of a hundred dollars each,” I told them. “Tar-zhay or mall?”
They discussed it on the way to the Metro, throwing surreptitious glances over their shoulders to make certain I was behind them and not listening. I hid my grin. Even worried as I was, I couldn’t help a glow of pride that I’d made the Hacker and the Evil Genius work together on a positive project.
My grin was a little weary many hours later as we dragged back in at dark, carrying our loot. We’d hit both Target and the mall in pursuit of bargains. A hundred dollars apiece hadn’t half begun to cover our purchases, and the crowds had left this introvert battered and in dire need of isolation.
But EG was singing carols, so it had been worth it. Tudor had pragmatically bought himself a new backpack and stowed all his packages in it. We’d eaten lunch at the mall, and I felt guilty about abandoning Zander to forage for himself.
I shouldn’t have. The Maximillian survival genes were strong—the library table was covered with the remains of whatever feast he’d prepared. And he had stacks of papers piled along the table in some order I hoped to figure out. “Anything interesting?” I asked, hoping I could make an easy escape to my basement hideaway.
“I think,” he said, glancing up. “Give me a little more time. How did you obtain these links? I’m inside some pretty high-end organizations, and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be.”
I wasn’t ready to explain Graham’s resources yet. On this machine, I’d saved sites that didn’t require satellite connections since the laptop wasn’t networked with his system. “I’ll explain later. Send me anything you think I need to see immediately. I’ll be downstairs working a different angle.”
He nodded. “I left mujadara on the stove. I became hungry.”
“Bless you! Send the kids to the kitchen if they come hunting for me.”
I filled a bowl with hot lentils and rice and headed for my office. Once upon a time, I’d eaten like this all the time. Mallard had spoiled us by feeding us regular meals, forcing us to sit at a dinner table like a real family. I knew I needed to establish that routine again, but not now.
I opened up my Cobalt Whiz—and blinked in startlement.
A screen saver of an ostentatiously dressed crowd at an extravagant buffet table glittering with silver and candelabra flashed at me. Tuxes, evening gowns, even a few tiaras adorned the beautiful people drinking champagne. What the heck?
Graham was back.
Fighting overwhelming relief, I growled in irritation at his high-handed invasion of my computer and apparent sarcasm about rich people—like me and my family. We definitely were not champagne and tiara sorts. I retaliated by switching to EG’s screensaver of pink unicorns and green elves and imagined them blinking across Graham’s giant monitors.
I wanted to shout hallelujahs. I wanted to kick his brains out his ears. The best I could do was pink unicorns.
“Dammit, Ana, pay attention!” the intercom yelled at me.
“The hell I will,” I shouted back. I hadn’t used so many swear words in years as I had this weekend. I am only just learning to deal with family again. Graham’s playing hooky had left me walking a tight rope without a net. “You walk out without telling me, and you think we have any kind of collaboration happening here?”
To make my point, I ripped the intercom out of the socket and flung it across the room. I hadn’t realized how much he’d scared me by disappearing like that. And because flinging inanimate objects didn’t ease my fury, I shoved a chair under the bolt hole in the ceiling. It wasn’t any more than a reinforced square panel in the ceiling that opened into my grandfather’s bedroom closet. But that closet contained stairs to Graham’s lair. I had just pulled myself into the closet and stood up when I saw his long legs coming down.
I froze. He dropped down in front of me. This was a closet. We would be nose to nose, except I’m short and wasn’t wearing heels. It was more like nose to neck, and Graham’s masculine throat smelled of a spicy aftershave that made me drool. Even a large closet was too tight for both of us.
“You want me out of the house,” he reminded me in a snarl. He was all muscle-bound male in tight black t-shirt and jeans, and I’d only hurt my fist if I punched him.
&n
bsp; “You want my family to get lost and leave you alone,” I countered, clenching my hands on my hips. This close, I could practically hear his heart beating.
“The lot of you are dangerous together!” he roared. “You can’t expect me to keep up with a dozen human IEDs waiting to go off. And you quit paying attention when they’re around. Did you even look at that photo I sent you? Do you have any idea what your damned sister has got herself into?”
Patra? Or Juliana? I hadn’t thought he even knew about Juliana.
Before I could reply, he grabbed my shoulders and smashed his mouth down on mine.
Once upon a time, we would have taken our tempers out on each other in the gym. Since our last encounter in a hotel room, our fury had a new outlet. I grabbed his muscled biceps and lifted myself into his crushing kiss with way more enthusiasm than the wretched man deserved.
We were pawing at each other, stumbling out of the closet in the direction of Max’s grandiose bed, when the doorbell rang its Christmas carol.
Graham swore beneath his breath, glanced down with avid interest at my half-opened buttons in the darkness, and set me aside. “Magda,” he said. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. She’s mixed up in this.”
He departed through the closet, leaving me gasping and cursing at the chiming carol.
The chime stopped. Someone had answered it. I prayed it was Mallard, but he was probably having a heart attack at the mess we’d left in the kitchen—or the tree in his precious parlor.
Was he telling me Magda was out there? Of course, he was. EG had invited her. And if she was mixed up in Juliana’s school. . .
I couldn’t greet my mother until I’d pulled myself together. I dropped back into my office just as a knock timidly hit my door. I didn’t have enough creative obscenities in my weary brain for this.
I buttoned my Henley and yanked open the door. Zander stood there, looking like a bereft waif. Not half an hour ago, he’d been an intelligent man focused on a goal. Magda had turned him into an adolescent simply by crossing the threshold. There was good reason I didn’t want to face her.
I gestured Zander toward the wing chair I’d just climbed down from, closed, and locked the door. EG and Tudor could handle our mother for a while. I could hear EG shouting excitedly and the low rumble of Tudor’s deepening voice.
“I’ve never met her,” he whispered.
“You used to call her Ma-ma.” I sank into my chair and tried to calm my rattled nerves. “She called you sweet bumpkins. You’re allowed to hate her for abandoning you, if you like.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that. We have always understood that she left for our own protection. We knew she was available if we needed her, and she was, when the time came. But most of our lives, we didn’t need her. We had half a dozen anties in the village to look after us.”
“All of them probably better mothers than Magda,” I pointed out. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s a brilliant, dedicated woman, but she’s a crappy mother. The Catholic Church did the world no favors when it told its believers to go forth and multiply. Why that was one commandment Magda obeyed is beyond my comprehension.”
He made what sounded like a snort. “The world is already too populated, mostly with people unfit to take care of it. But we were supposed to take care of each other,” he said despondently. “And I have lost my sister. Our mother will be horrified and think me a bad son.”
I crossed my arms on the desk and leaned forward. “Listen, and listen carefully. Magda knows everything. Magda can very well have sent Julie here. Magda believes the world revolves around what she wants and needs. She uses people. Stand your ground and do not let her bully you. This house belongs to us, not her. She is our guest.” It was a good thing I’d ripped out the intercom or Graham would be grumbling about now.
My mind slid back to our all-too-brief encounter, but I yanked it back from fiery kisses. I would try to work out what he’d been telling me later, not while Magda threatened my nest. And yeah, that was part of what Graham was telling me—I put family before him and my work.
Zander took a deep breath and swiped at his nearly non-existent hair. I wondered if he used to wear it long and bushy before he went to work at a stuffy finance office. As toddlers, the twins had been adorable with their identical frizzy curls.
“I am a failure at following in my father’s footsteps,” he finally admitted. “I was supposed to go into politics, but I hated even running for student government.”
Ah, there was an interesting insight. I liked him better for it. “It requires a certain temperament for lying to people on a regular basis,” I said cynically. “I do not consider it a failure to be honest.”
He offered a slight smile. “That’s one way of looking at it. Mostly, I don’t like shaking hands and making wild promises and remembering names. I am not a salesman.”
“Another point in your favor. Let’s go up, and I’ll introduce the two of you. Magda will shower you with kisses, then disappear tomorrow. Pretend you know nothing until you can trust her. She’s not here because EG invited her, I promise.”
That really raised his eyebrows, but he intelligently refrained from questioning. He rose and opened the door for me.
The moment we arrived in the foyer, Magda fell into her lost chick routine. We all stood back and let her exclaim over Zander, admire his height and how he’d turned out just like his father, yadda yadda.
Magda was still gorgeous, of course. She’d had me when she was barely eighteen, so she was only in her late forties. Her naturally blond hair changed colors upon occasion, but she’d gone for light highlights on this visit. She was tall and willowy like Patra. High cheekbones and long, up-tilted sloe eyes gave her an exotic look—our Hungarian background apparently. She’d flung her fur coat over her luggage to reveal a red form-fitting cashmere sweater and black leather slacks that only a model should wear—but Magda pulled off the look well.
I yawned. Tudor and EG went back to the blinking lights. We’d bought wrapping paper on our outing, and they had been busy scattering ribbons and bows all over the carpet. We now had cheerfully messy gifts under our eccentric tree. We waited for the reunion to end and the real message to begin.
“Where are Nick and Patra?” Magda cried, finally releasing an embarrassed Zander.
“They have their own places.” I only partially lied. Patra had a room upstairs, but she worked downtown and spent most nights in Sean’s condo near their office. I would let Patra explain that.
Mallard arrived, looking as if he’d just stepped from a fashion plate for royal butlers. “Madam, shall I escort you to your chamber?” he intoned, while shooting me a nasty look that said I’d be made to pay later. For what, was anyone’s guess. My faults are numerous.
“Mallard, you old sweetie. It’s good to see you.” Magda patted his plump cheek and made him blush. “Daddy’s room again?”
Thank goodness Graham and I hadn’t made it to the bed!
“Come along, Ana, help me unpack. We have a lot to catch up on.” She gestured commandingly as Mallard gathered her luggage.
I picked up the fur and flung it at her, then lifted some of the smaller bags. She really had packed heavily for this trip. That was ominous on many levels.
She caught the fur without complaint, swung on her spiked heels, and clattered down the hall to Max’s suite—the only one in the house that had been updated to modern specifications. The rest of us figured it was haunted by our grandfather’s strong presence since he’d most likely been poisoned in that bed, but Magda didn’t have an ounce of sensitivity in her nature.
Of course, if Graham and I had done the deed on that mattress, it might have changed the whole flavor of that room in my head. Too late now. I sighed in impatience as Mallard dragged out luggage racks and lifted the heavy cases so Magda could better open them.
“Dinner will be delayed until eight,” he said in that sonorous voice he had to have copied from a monk’s chant. “There has been a minor disa
ster in the scullery.”
The scullery. I rolled my eyes. “We already ate. Zander’s mujadara was delicious. Have a taste before you throw it out.” I smiled brightly, letting his criticism of our kitchen capabilities roll right off me. Now that I was pretty certain we couldn’t be thrown from this house, I had to learn to deal with Mallard. He had a temper and had quit before, but he was a sentimental sucker.
He glared and stalked off.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on Mallard, dear. He’s had a difficult life. He used to be a general in the IRA, if you could call that confederacy of hotheads an army. He lost his family in the riots. He’s the reason your father came to Max.” She blithely began unpacking her suitcase and hanging things in the closet—the one with the hidden stairs.
While I’d once adored Magda’s fairy tales, they were often just that—tales to suit whatever she was doing at the moment. I tried not to encourage her. I could read newspaper archives and knew for fact that my father was an erudite statesman who represented Irish Catholics and sought congressional support for a just cause. I also knew from less reliable sources that he was a weapons dealer for an illegal army of rebels—some malformed descendant of Mallard’s original IRA. My father, the diplomatic gun dealer—black and white do not exist in my world.
“We’re in contact with Juliana,” I said bluntly. “She’s fine. You have no need to hang about if you have better things to do.”
“That’s cruel, Ana.” She sent me a disapproving look. “My family is here for Christmas. Would you throw me out in the cold?”
Oh wow, I was starting to see this house from Graham’s viewpoint. As long as we were here, Magda would feel free to use it. She could decide to retire and live here for the rest of her life—because none of us would throw her out. That frightened even me. Graham was probably packing his bags again.
“Of course not,” I said, spinning out the lightbulb in the bedside lamp and removing the bug.
Magda repeated the act on the lamp on the other side and popped out the battery. “How jolly, just like old times! I trust Graham will have turned off the security cameras in here?”
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