Sink Trap

by Evans, Christy

  “Still”—I pushed back a little—“the sheriff ought to know she was having trouble with the lawyers. That might be important.”

  Janis shook her head. Even though I pleaded with her for several more minutes, she wouldn’t budge. She had the diary; I was sure of that. But she wasn’t giving it up, and she refused to even consider telling the sheriff.

  “I have supper to cook,” she said, climbing out of the car. “The men count on me.” There was stubborn pride in her voice once again. Janis Breckweth was a survivor, but not at the expense of other people.

  As revealing as our meeting had been, I still had two new burning questions. Where was Martha Tepper’s diary?

  And who had her money?

  chapter 21

  I knew where the diary was, of course. Janis had it. But she wasn’t telling anyone where she’d hidden it.

  If I believed the rest of what she told me—and I did—someone Martha Tepper trusted had cheated and betrayed her. Someone with access to her finances had stolen from her.

  I told myself there were lots of people with access to her money. The Gladstones were the most likely suspects, of course. According to Janis, Martha knew that but she wasn’t one hundred percent sure. There was also the manager of the bank, and maybe an investment counselor. I’d heard lots of horror stories about stockbrokers and the like, churning the investments of clients, raking in huge commissions while the clients’ funds dwindled.

  And there was, I had to admit, her accountant.

  Wade.

  How much did I know about Wade? Not the Wade from high school, the Wade that Sue claimed moped when I left for college, but the right-now Wade, the one who had bought a house near Martha Tepper. The one who knew I had been snooping around the Tepper house. The Wade I’d shared my suspicions with.

  The Wade who pooh-poohed my concerns and dismissed my fears.

  So, how much did I really know about him?

  Enough.

  My mother trusted him, and she didn’t trust much of anyone after Dad died. What’s more, she trusted Wade with her money. That alone made him above reproach.

  As though to prove it to myself, I found myself parking on the street directly in front of Wade’s office.

  Put your money where your mouth is, Neverall.

  Wade was on the phone when I walked in. He smiled at me and signaled to the chair across from his desk, holding up a finger in the universal “just one minute” gesture.

  It was one I knew well; I had used it a lot myself, back when I was running Samurai. Back then, everyone waited for me.

  Wade looked genuinely pleased to see me.

  “What brings my favorite plumber to my office in the middle of the afternoon?”

  I looked pointedly at the clock over his desk. He followed my gaze, a look of surprise crossing his face as he realized it was nearly five.

  “Okay, late in the afternoon.”

  Wade got up and walked around his desk. He put a hand on my left shoulder. “You look upset,” he said. “What happened?”

  This was my moment of truth. Either I trusted Wade, and I told him what happened, or I walked away.

  Decision time, Neverall.

  “What we found, it’s bad, Wade. Real bad.”

  He crouched down until he was at eye level. His hand slid off my shoulder and rested on my arm. He reached for my right hand, and held it.

  “What did the sheriff say, Georgie? Did he tell you anything?”

  “It’s blood. Like that’s any big surprise. I mean, you saw it, right? We all knew what it was. And those shell casings.” I shook myself, trying to throw off the image.

  “But you knew all that before, and you said you were fine. Which you were, more or less. Something happened since then. Was it something the sheriff did?”

  “Not exactly. I mean, it was stressful being in that office. And it didn’t help that there was a reporter waiting for me, and I had to sneak out the back door to avoid him.

  “But just before I left, the sheriff told me they had some results on the tests they were doing.

  “I don’t even know if I’m supposed to tell anyone, Wade, but I have to talk to somebody!”

  Wade nodded, and waited silently for me to continue.

  “It’s the same blood type as Martha Tepper’s.”

  I swallowed, and went on. “The sheriff says they’ll run DNA tests, and they’ll take a few days. But I think he’s already sure.”

  The color drained from Wade’s face, and he had to swallow a few times before he could speak again. “Sure that it’s Martha’s blood?” he asked. “Or sure that . . .”

  He couldn’t complete the thought.

  “Both.”

  Wade gripped my hand so tightly I thought he might break my fingers. I frowned and he loosened his hold, muttering “Sorry.”

  “And that’s not the worst of it.”

  Wade’s expression said clearly that he couldn’t think of anything much worse. His client, friend, and neighbor was missing, and her blood had been found in a place it didn’t belong.

  How much worse could it get?

  “They picked up her housekeeper and took her to the sheriff’s office.”

  I told him about running into Janis Breckweth and giving her a lift back to the Second Chances shelter.

  “She’s living there now,” I said. “She cooks for them, and they gave her a place to stay. I guess it’s sort of the same deal she had with Miss Tepper, and she made sure we all knew she was working there, not just staying at the shelter.

  “I don’t think she had anything to do with this, Wade. She didn’t do anything except talk, and what she said bothered me. A lot.”

  “Go on.”

  “She says she has a diary that Martha Tepper was keeping the last few weeks before she disappeared.”

  I repeated the things Janis had told me, and her claims that someone had been stealing from Miss Tepper.

  “Janis said Martha suspected the Gladstones, that she was making notes about things, and she was going to give them a chance to fix things.”

  “She must have,” Wade said.

  “What do you mean? She didn’t fix anything. Janis was left without a job or a place to live, even though Martha promised to take care of her. And the Gladstones are still in charge of her business affairs. And you’re her accountant—shouldn’t you be worried about all this?”

  “If there was some truth to it, I would be. But I don’t think there is.”

  Wade stopped. Some color had returned to his face, and he had relaxed his grip on my hands. He studied my face for seconds that felt like hours, then rolled his eyes.

  “I cannot believe I’m going to do this,” he said. “But I have to trust you. You understand, everything I am going to tell you is in strictest confidence. No one else knows about this, except the people involved. Do I have your word that you will not repeat this to anyone, for any reason?”

  “But what if—”

  “No buts, Georgie. You can’t tell anyone.”

  “I promise.”

  “Martha Tepper made a loan to the Gladstones, just a few weeks before she left. They were having some problems, like so many folks around here. They made some bad investments and business was slow. The same problems everybody had, but they had gotten deeply into debt. Martha sent me a copy of the loan agreement, with instructions to put it in her file. It was a sizable loan, with very generous terms, but she could easily afford it. She said they would pay it back as soon as they could, and she was sure they were good for it. So whatever her dispute with Rick and Rachel was, she must have resolved it.”

  “Maybe,” I said slowly. “But what if she started suspecting them after she made the loan? What if she gave them the money and then discovered that they had taken more than they were supposed to, or they weren’t paying the bills they were supposed to, and they wouldn’t be able to pay it back? Or what if—”

  Wade let go of my hands and grabbed my shoulders. He gave me a gentle sh
ake and shook his head. “That’s a lot of what-ifs, Georgie. There isn’t any reason to believe any of it.”

  “But Janis said—”

  “And Janis has every reason to resent the Gladstones. They were Martha’s attorneys, sure. But they were also her friends, and she helped them out before she left.

  “Janis expected to be helped, too, and that didn’t happen. Instead, Rachel Gladstone showed up and told her she would have to move out of the house because it was being sold.”

  He stood up, releasing my shoulders, and paced across the small office. “She’s angry, and maybe scared about her future. From her perspective, the Gladstones got all the things she was promised.”

  “But what about the diary?”

  “What about it?” Wade held his hands out, palms up. “Have you seen it? Do you know where it is? Do you even know for sure that it exists?”

  “Janis says it’s in a safe place.”

  “Janis says. Janis says.” He plopped back into his swivel chair behind the desk and leaned over the cluttered surface.

  “She doesn’t know who to trust, Wade. And really, can you blame her?”

  “She doesn’t know who to trust, but she expects you to trust her? Maybe she ought to trust the sheriff. She should give him what she has and let him do his job.”

  I sighed. There was no reason for us to be fighting about this. Wade was right, Janis should trust the sheriff. But she wasn’t going to. Not as long as she was his prime suspect.

  “I’ll keep working on it,” I said. “Maybe if she gives the diary to the sheriff, that will change his mind.”

  Wade nodded in agreement. “That sounds like a good idea, Georgie. Maybe you can convince her to tell the sheriff what she told you. And if she backs that up with an actual diary, then he’ll have something to work with.”

  It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all I had. I’d make time tomorrow to talk to Janis again. If I could convince her to trust me, maybe I could get her to go to the sheriff with whatever she had.

  “Feel better?” Wade asked. He stood again, came around the desk, and held out his hand to help me up from the chair. “Been a long day, Georgie. You could use some food and a beer.

  “I’m buying.”

  “A quick one,” I said. “The dogs are waiting for me and I promised them a long walk. And,” I admitted, “I’m beat.”

  “How about this?” Wade shut down his computer and started putting away the files that were scattered across the top of his old-fashioned wooden desk. “You go let the dogs out, and I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes with Tiny’s burgers and some microbrew. I’ll help you walk the dogs after we eat.”

  “Now that’s an offer too good to turn down.” I smiled up at Wade and turned for the door, digging my car keys out of my pocket.

  I stopped and turned back around. “But those had better be double cheeseburgers,” I said. “I didn’t get much lunch, and I’m starved!”

  Wade grinned and waved me out of the office as he switched off the desk lamp.

  “See you in twenty.”

  I debated a shower while the dogs visited the backyard, but I decided against it. Whatever my thing was with Wade—and I was beginning to think it actually might be a thing—it wasn’t at the answer-the-door-in-my-bathrobe point. Yet.

  Wade, I was discovering, was much prompter than Sue. While I could count on Sue’s twenty minutes being at least thirty, Wade’s twenty was closer to eighteen.

  I did manage to comb my hair and grab a clean T-shirt before he knocked on the front door.

  True to his word, he had a bag of double cheeseburgers, with fries, from Tiny’s, and a six-pack.

  It wasn’t the kind of meal I used to eat. Two years ago I would have been horrified at the carb count of the microbrew, and the burger wouldn’t have had a slab of melted cheese on top.

  But I’d left that girl in San Francisco, and the woman who lived in Pine Ridge liked her burgers with gooey cheese and fries and beer.

  The woman who lived in Pine Ridge worked at a job she loved and ate what she liked. She kept her weight in check with hard work instead of a high-priced fitness center, and she dressed in jeans and comfortable shoes.

  I was starting to really enjoy being that woman.

  After dinner, we clipped the leashes to the dogs’ collars and set out for our walk. Wade was pleasant company and we carefully avoided the topic of Martha Tepper and the people around her.

  For that one hour, walking in the cool summer evening, I could pretend that I’d only seen stars, and the rising moon, and all I’d heard was the breeze stirring the branches of the evergreens along our route.

  I couldn’t keep the illusion, though, once Wade left. It was still early and I was too keyed up to sleep.

  The dogs settled into their beds, having wolfed down their treats, and I wandered around the house. I loaded the dishwasher and started it running. I stripped the bed and remade it with clean sheets.

  After all that had happened, I kept thinking about how much my life had changed in the few months I’d been back in Pine Ridge.

  Once again, I pulled out my gi. The routines calmed me as I moved through them. I thought about the empty storefront on Main Street.

  I wasn’t ready to give up my martial arts training, but I didn’t think I wanted to be a teacher.

  Besides, I had discovered plumbing, and as silly as it sounded, I really enjoyed my job. When I left high tech, I had wanted something as far removed as I could find, and plumbing seemed to fit the bill. Yet in some ways, it was a lot like computer programming. Except you moved water instead of data.

  It was hard work and you got dirty—a lot—and it was too hot in the summer and way too cold in the winter. But there was something about it that gave me a sense of accomplishment. The longer I worked with Barry, the more I realized it was where I belonged.

  I reached the end of my workout and dragged myself to the shower. I tumbled into bed. Tired, still worried about Martha Tepper, but at least I had a plan.

  It was good to be home.

  In the morning, Barry was waiting by his pickup when I arrived. He looked at his watch, then back at me. I shook my head and tapped the face of my watch. According to my beat-up drugstore timepiece, I was right on time.

  Barry watched me climb out of the Beetle. Whatever he was planning to say was short-circuited when I handed him a steaming mocha from the espresso place a few blocks away.

  Barry sipped, and flinched when the scalding liquid hit his tongue. “Mmmm,” he hummed. “Tell me this is sugar-free, please. Paula is all over my case about sugar, so I promised to drink sugar-free mochas.”

  I screwed up my face in an expression of disgust. A lot of things were okay in their sugar-free versions, but chocolate wasn’t one of them.

  “Of course it is,” I lied. “Wouldn’t want you crossing Paula—she’d take you apart.”

  Barry chuckled and took another careful sip. “She could.”

  “Lucky for you, she’s crazy about you. So you’re safe, at least for now.”

  We carried our coffee inside the echoing space of the warehouse. There hadn’t been any work done inside since the day we’d discovered Martha Tepper’s brooch in the drain pipe of the utility sink.

  I realized with a start that it had only been a couple weeks, although it felt a lot longer.

  I looked around. The drain for the utility sink was still disassembled, a rag stuffed in the end of the pipe to block any sewer gas from getting into the building.

  “Where do you want to start?” I asked.

  Barry thought for a minute, then said, “The bathroom. If we can get that working, it would be a good thing. Customers are always happier if the toilet’s working.”

  I nearly answered with a slang expression, but I stopped myself just in time. Even a bad pun wasn’t justification for breaking Barry’s cursing rule. And bringing him his favorite mocha didn’t earn me a free pass, either.

  “Me, too.”

&nbs
p; Barry chuckled. He was learning about having a woman on the job site, just as I was learning to work with an all-male crew.

  True, my crew at Samurai Security had been nearly all male, but a computer security company was a far cry from a construction site. There were certain amenities that you took for granted in an office.

  The toilet was a challenge, but we finally got it working properly and started in on the trough sink that ran along one wall. The urinals could wait until later.

  We had replaced the valve seats on two of the faucets, and had four more to go, when I heard the ominous tapping that signaled the appearance of Sandra Neverall.

  The tapping drew closer, and she called out to us.

  “Mr. Hickey? Georgiana? Where are you?”

  “Working in the bathroom, Ms. Neverall,” Barry answered. “Hang on a minute, we’ll be right out.”

  “Please don’t interrupt yourselves on my account,” she said. “I just wanted to talk to you for a—Oh!”

  Sandra stopped just inside the bathroom door, staring at the row of urinals that lined the opposite wall. Her face colored, and I expected her to beat a hasty retreat.

  But once again, I underestimated Sandra Neverall. She stood her ground, and in a few seconds she had her expression, and her color, under tight control.

  “So, Mr. Hickey. Can you give me some idea when you’ll be able to finish up the house? We really need to keep that project moving, and I know you’re the one to ask.” She smiled sweetly, an expression so clearly fake I nearly choked.

  I had to give Barry points for cool, though. He didn’t rise to her bait. “Well, in this case,” he said, “I’m afraid I don’t have much say over when we can get back to work. That will be up to the sheriff. As soon as he lets us back in, we’ll make that our top priority.”

  “So, I need to talk to the sheriff, then. I see.”

  “Yep.” Barry turned his attention back to the faucet he was disassembling. “Once he gives us the go-ahead, we should be able to wrap up the job in a day. Maybe two, if we don’t find any surprises.” He paused. “I sincerely hope we’ve had all the surprises we’re going to have on that job.”