by Marta Perry
“I’m sorry.” He moved as if he’d put his arm around her again, but seemed to think the better of it. “If there’s anything Julie and I can do, just name it.”
In happier times, she and Paul had often gotten together with Ian and Julie, usually at their house, because Julie didn’t like to leave their baby daughter with a sitter. She’d enjoyed those times of socializing as a couple, but she couldn’t expect Ian and Julie to feel the same now. The break-up of a marriage changed a lot of things, forcing people to pick sides, and Ian had been Paul’s friend first.
“It can’t be helped. I just wish I knew what Paul is doing.”
She smoothed the mutilated needlepoint cushion she’d made. It had taken her most of last winter to finish it. Needlepoint was one of the many things her mother hadn’t had time to teach her. Any sewing she’d learned had come from her grossmammi. For an instant the image of that Amish farm where she’d spent her childhood summers shimmered like a mirage of peace and security beyond the current chaos. It had been a haven during her hectic childhood, and like a child, she longed for it now.
“Haven’t you heard from him at all?” Ian’s voice chased the image away.
“Just a brief text, saying he could explain.”
She closed her lips against the temptation to say what she’d thought about that response. It was what Paul had always said when the checking account was overdrawn, or the credit card was over its limit, or the diamond earrings he’d given her had inexplicably disappeared.
The explanations were rarely credible, but in the beginning, she’d persuaded herself to believe them. Eventually she’d learned better. They weren’t explanations, they were lies.
“If he contacts you again, will you tell him to get in touch with me?” Ian’s gaze held hers. “Please, Rachel. He’s my friend, and I’ll do anything I can for him.”
“I know.” It couldn’t be easy to keep on being Paul’s friend. Though not quite as bad as being his wife and watching him plunge into disaster and nearly drag her with him.
Ian shook his head. “If only I could talk to him, maybe I could make him see sense. He’s got to come forward right away. That’s the only way out of this fix. I can talk to James—I’m sure he wouldn’t press charges if Paul came back.”
“You’ve tried to call him?” Of course he would have. She was tempted to tell him about the flash drive, but something held her back.
“He doesn’t answer. Or respond to my texts.” Ian sounded as frustrated as she felt.
He bent to pick up a sheaf of paper from the floor, putting it neatly on the desk, and then looked around for the missing drawer. It lay several feet away, and he went to retrieve it.
“You don’t need to bother with that,” she protested. “I’ll have to go through all of it to see if anything is missing, not that I think there will be. I imagine whoever did this wasn’t interested in my bills or letters.”
Ian shook his head, smiling a little. “You don’t think I’m going to run out and leave you to deal with this mess, do you? I’ll help you clean up.”
“Julie will be expecting you.” It was a halfhearted protest. She had no desire to face this alone.
“I called and told her I had a stop to make, so she won’t be worried. I’m sure she’d come over, if you want...”
“No, no. She won’t want to leave the baby, and it’s not necessary.” She tried to find a bright spot in the situation. “At least so far it doesn’t look as if there’s too much actual damage, but I haven’t checked the rest of the house yet. That man...Mordan...looked around to be sure no one was here, that’s all.”
“You let him walk around by himself?”
“Well, yes. Why not?”
“Nothing, nothing. I suppose it’s his job. But I’ll take a quick look, just to see if there’s anything I need to break gently to you.”
She smiled, thankful for a light touch in this mess. “There have been several minor break-ins in the area, and I imagine I’m just the latest victim.”
“What have the intruders been taking? Do you know? Cash? Electronics?”
“Just cash, apparently. I’ve heard they think it’s probably kids.” She swung around and hurried to the desk. “I keep cash in here...” She held up the bank envelope. Empty. “Well, I did keep cash in here. There probably wasn’t more than fifty dollars.”
“Well, that answers one question, anyway. I don’t suppose they’ll come back, but if you’d like to stay the night with us, we’d love to have you.”
The offer warmed her. “That’s good of you, but I’m not afraid to stay here. As you said, they won’t come back.” She firmly dismissed the idea that it had been anything other than a random break-in. Mordan was seeing shadows where none existed. This couldn’t have anything to do with Paul.
“At least I can rig something on that back door so no one can walk in. And you probably should have some dead bolts installed.” Ian headed for the kitchen. His hand on the door frame, he stopped and looked back at her. “Rachel, if you do hear anything from Paul, tell him to get in touch with me right away. There’s not much time.”
“Time?” She stared at him, puzzled. It didn’t seem there was any way this situation could get worse.
“The security firm is bad enough, but if they don’t get any results in a day or two...” Ian paused, his face grim. “I’m afraid Attwood will call in the police. Then it will be too late for Paul to make amends.”
* * *
TOO LATE. THE words were still echoing in Rachel’s mind after a sleepless night. If she’d hoped the wee hours would bring an answer, she’d been disappointed. The situation still looked as bad as it had before.
If Paul ended up in jail, or worse, if she was also charged with aiding him... Rachel struggled to face the possible consequences. She’d have to resign from the school immediately, of course, and even that might not be enough to keep enrollment from suffering. Fairfield School had been the dream of her heart as well as Lyn’s. If she were responsible for its failure, how could she live with that?
Trying to concentrate on what she was doing instead of on what might happen, she finished making coffee and got out two mugs. Although why she should offer any hospitality to Clint Mordan, she didn’t know. Given how antagonistic he’d been, she might be better off greeting him with boiling oil.
But when she opened the door to him a few minutes later, he didn’t look quite as grim as he had when he’d left the previous day. He held up a white paper bag as if it were a peace offering. “Bagels. I hoped you might have coffee.”
She ought to be suspicious, but she was so relieved to see that forbidding face relaxed that she almost smiled in return. Careful, she warned herself. If Mordan wanted to start over with her, it could be only because he thought that would get him what he wanted.
“Come into the kitchen. I don’t have a lot of time.” Half an hour. A lot could happen in half an hour.
“Looks like you spent the night cleaning up in here.” He glanced around the living room before moving into the small kitchen, where the morning sun slanted through the windows, brightening the colors of the scarlet mums she’d put in the window boxes.
“Ian stayed for a time and helped me. The other rooms didn’t seem quite as bad as the living room.” She shrugged. “Or maybe when I reached them, I was getting over the shock.”
“Any serious damage?” He stood next to the pine table, obviously waiting for her to take a seat.
She waved him to a chair as she poured the coffee into mugs. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Just black, please.” He opened the bag. Without waiting for such a frivolous thing as a plate, he slid bagels, napkins and cream cheese containers out onto the table.
“No, nothing bad.” But she still felt violated. “The cash I kept in the desk was missing. That’s what happened in the other break-ins, so I’m sure it was the sa
me kids.”
She added a couple of small plates and knives to the mix and set coffee in front of him before taking a seat.
“I’m glad it wasn’t worse.” He seemed almost conciliatory. “People can cause a lot of problems if they’re intent on vandalism.” He sipped at his steaming coffee, giving her a moment to study him.
The previous day she hadn’t had time to do anything but react. He’d come across as harsh, antagonistic, stiff, with a stoic face that seemed to be carved from granite.
Now, she tried to look without prejudging. Dark brown hair, thick and cut in an almost military style. His eyes were nearly as dark, but they had fine lines around them that told a story of tension, stress, possibly pain. The planes of his cheekbones and jaw contributed to the sense of someone stripped down for action. Formidable. That was the overall impression that emanated from him. Wonderful, if he happened to be on your side, but he wasn’t on hers. It shook her, knowing that strength was aligned against her.
He set the mug on the table. “It’s still possible your visitor had an objective in mind other than theft or vandalism.”
She nodded. There was no point in denying the obvious. “It could be, I suppose, but that wouldn’t explain the missing money. And if you’re assuming Paul left something here, I can assure you, he took everything to his new apartment.”
“Did you change the locks after he moved out?”
“Of course I did.” She wasn’t dumb enough to leave Paul access to something he could convert to ready cash. “He couldn’t...” She stopped, suddenly realizing how he could have, if he’d thought of it.
“Missed something?” But Mordan sounded sympathetic, not sarcastic, so she didn’t flare up.
“I never thought of it, but Paul knew where I hid the key to the garage. I suppose he could get in the garage that way, and the extra house key is hanging in there.” Annoyed with herself that she’d had to admit it to him, she snapped, “But there’s no sign he did. The key is still there, and I’ve never noticed any signs that someone had been in the house.”
He studied her face for a moment, and she felt her cheeks warm under that intent gaze.
“Believe it or not, I’m not the enemy here. We’d like your cooperation. And telling me what we want to know is the best way of proving you’re innocent of theft.” His tone was uncompromising. He struck her as a man who wouldn’t tolerate any wavering from the truth.
And of course he was right. Rachel fell back on what was the last line of defense. “Since Paul was a partner in the business, he may have the right to access any material belonging to it.”
“Partner?” He snapped the word, his face tightening. “We haven’t been told anything about a partnership.”
Rachel took a gulp of the coffee and tried to think how to explain something she didn’t fully understand herself.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know how formal it was, but the four of them—Paul, Ian, James Attwood and Claire Gibson—had all been in college and grad school at the same time. Attwood had the idea for the business, but he needed help to get it off the ground, so the others agreed to work for a share of the profits until they got established. They apparently had some lean years before contracts started coming in.” She shrugged. “At least, that’s the way Paul told it.”
Mordan’s expression hadn’t changed, and she had no idea whether he found that a good defense or not. He didn’t give much away with that stoic expression. At least he was listening.
“I’ll check on it. Now let’s get to what happened when you went to the office to meet your ex-husband.”
Her stomach turned over. It was one thing to decide she couldn’t lie for Paul and another to be the one providing evidence against him.
Seeing her hesitation, Clint Mordan’s eyes became a little less frosty. He reached across the table to touch her hand lightly. “Look, you must realize that Hartline is already in deep trouble. We know he was there, we know he accessed Attwood’s personal computer. We know he’s disappeared, and judging by the fact that someone was in your house, someone could know he took something away. What was it, a flash drive?”
Rachel let out the breath she’d been holding. “Yes.” Her voice sounded weak, and she cleared her throat. “I found him in James Attwood’s office. I heard him make a sound and went to look. He was just disconnecting a flash drive from the computer.”
There. It was done. Whatever came of it, Paul would have to face the consequences of his action. But if she’d done the right thing, why did she feel so guilty?
“All right.” Those steely eyes were still fixed on her face. “Did you question him? What did he say?”
Obviously he wasn’t going to be content until he’d extracted every bit of the memory. She took a gulp of the hot coffee to ease her tight throat.
“I don’t remember exactly. I think he tried to act as if it were nothing, but I knew he was lying. When I confronted him about it...” She shook her head. “That was when we heard Charlie coming up the steps. Paul ran out the back way, though the workrooms.”
“Taking the flash drive with him.”
She nodded.
“Did he say anything else before he went?”
Rachel sucked in a breath, her throat tight. “He asked me not to give him away.” But she had. They both knew that now.
“He didn’t explain?”
“No. There wasn’t time.” Didn’t he understand how quickly it had happened? “It couldn’t have been much more than a minute or two. Then he was gone, and I went out to the stairs before Charlie could come all the way up.”
Mordan leaned back in his chair, still watching her. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, because he nodded slightly.
“I’m sure you’ve tried since then to call him. That would be the natural thing to do.”
She shot him a look of dislike. Just when she thought it was over, there was more.
“Yes, I tried. He’s not answering.”
“What about a text?” He wasn’t leaving her any room for evasion now.
“I did get a short text. It basically said he could explain. That’s all. Ian...” But she didn’t want to involve Ian.
“What about him?”
She suspected he’d know if she tried to evade saying the words. “Ian mentioned that he’d also tried to call, but that Paul hadn’t answered.”
“No, I guess he wouldn’t.”
He seemed to be taking it for granted that Paul was guilty, and her temper flared.
“You don’t know yet that he’s guilty of anything.”
His gaze was almost pitying. “Sorry. But it’s our job to find out the truth of what happened. If your ex-husband took that copy for some legitimate reason, wouldn’t he have come forward by now?”
“I suppose something might have happened to prevent him.” But she didn’t really believe it. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. She glanced at the clock. Time was up.
Mordan stood, indicating that the interrogation was over. “For your sake, I hope that’s the case. I know this wasn’t easy, but maybe we can stop bothering you now. Call me if anything comes up.” He hesitated, looking down at her, and then reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.
She was startled at the comforting feel of that strong grip, and for a moment she was aware of him as a man, not just an antagonistic force. Their gazes met and clung, and he seemed as startled as she was. The warmth of his hand seemed to flow through her, reminding her of how long it had been since she’d had someone to rely on. If only...
Clint pulled his hand away as if he’d touched something hot, swung around, and walked off. After a moment she heard the front door open and close.
CHAPTER THREE
“SO I ENDED up telling him everything I know. I just wish I felt sure it was the right thing to do.” Rachel had arrived at s
chool in time to tell Lyn all that had happened.
Lyn had listened with gradually increasing concern. “I don’t see what else you could do,” she said, when Rachel had come to a reluctant halt. “Not even Paul could expect you to lie for him in a situation like this. Although nothing that man does would surprise me.”
Rachel couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s partisanship. “You never did trust him, did you?”
“Nope. But nobody in love wants to hear warnings of doom and gloom. They only blame the messenger.” She ran her hand through her short brown locks, tugging at them as if trying to force herself to think. She leaned against her crowded desk. “Wish I had some brilliant idea.”
“Me, too. After all, you’re the head teacher. You’re supposed to be full of good advice.” She smiled again, but the lighter moment passed quickly, leaving Rachel stuck in a morass of doubt.
“You’ve called the police about the break-in, haven’t you?”
Rachel felt obscurely guilty. Naturally Lyn would call the police. But Lyn wasn’t involved in her ex-husband’s murky affairs. “No. And I know you think I should, but I hate to get them involved, especially if it’s anything to do with Paul.”
“You’re still covering for him.” Lyn’s tone was accusing.
“Not exactly.” The protest didn’t sound convincing, even to her. “I know what you think of Paul, but he did have his good side. No one could be sweeter than he was, and he never wanted to hurt anyone. Unfortunately that usually meant he ended up lying about things.”
Lyn didn’t say anything. She just showed her disapproval.
Rachel hurried on with the story. “And wouldn’t you know, no sooner had Clint Mordan left than I got a text from Paul.”
“What did he say? Any explanation?”
She shook her head. “Too much to expect, I guess. The text just said I should pick up a disposable cell phone and text him from that.”
“Did you do it?” Lyn’s look of concern grew deeper.
“Not yet, but I suppose I’ll stop after school and buy one, if it’ll make him talk to me. But I don’t know what he’s worrying about. It’s not as if anyone could get their hands on my phone.”