The woman beside him pinched at the chunky jewelry that adorned her neck. Anita took a long draw on her coffee mug. Peter leaned back in his chair and laced his hands over his abdomen. Sean came back to meet with Daphne’s eyes.
“Mr. McKinley, Mr. Quinn didn’t just leave you something. He left you everything.” A large grin enveloped her face.
“I’m not sure why he would do that.”
Maybe this was going to be like his dad’s estate—a lot of messes to sort out and very little, if any, financial gain.
“Well, Mr. Quinn didn’t have any family left. What he did have, was you.”
“Me? I haven’t been that good of a friend in recent years. He was a great man and we had some good talks, but I’m afraid I let life interfere with seeing him as much as I would have liked.”
“Mr. Quinn believed otherwise. In accord with his expressed wishes, please read this and then we will continue.” Daphne extended an envelope.
He took it from her, while looking around the table at everyone. His mouth went pasty and dry. He licked his lips as he let his eyes settle on what he held. His heart thumped so rapidly, he feared it might jump out onto the table. His stomach cinched.
He lifted the corner and ran a finger along the seal, glancing up. “Are you sure you have the right person?”
The Grahams were passing glances at each other; the question seemed to have interrupted their silent dialogue. The other two kept watching him. It felt like they were sizing him up.
Peter gestured toward him. “Please. There is no mistake.”
Sean slipped a sheet of paper out and unfolded it. He looked up at them one more time before returning to examine the contents.
The letter was handwritten and was signed by Quinn himself.
It’s All Coming Together
SARA HAD A FULL COFFEE mug in one hand and her other drummed impatiently against the desk as she waited for results to fill the screen. She needed to find out what had gotten Cunningham shot. Workmates and friends didn’t provide any insight into who may have wanted him dead. Most said he stuck to himself and was a quiet man who preferred evenings home watching television. Their lead to the killer had to be drug related.
She drained back a mouthful of the brew, savoring its robust flavor. The stronger the coffee, the better. She wanted something that bit back.
The computer beeped as results filled the screen. It included the most recent drug busts and aliases. Somewhere in this list was the person they were looking for, she sensed it. Typically, she was right about these things. She even had a dream last night that told her they would find the killer today. Not that she was psychic, but she had an ability, sometimes, to sense things. She termed it strong intuition based on the compilation of facts. She was determined to solve this case, so her mind fed her that as truth. That’s how she saw it anyhow.
“Detective Cain?” Sergeant Voigt stood at the edge of her desk, a pen in his hand. “Where’s McKinley?”
“He had an appointment. He’s expected back.” Sara glanced at the clock.
Two fifteen.
“Probably any minute. His appointment was at one thirty.”
“You know Burton,” Voigt said.
“Yes, but we had to cut him loose.”
“Well, not soon enough. Seems he’s going after the department for being embarrassed at his place of work.” Voigt’s words carried reprimand but the curved edges of his mouth dampened the impact.
“You’re kidding me? We did everything by the book, Jimmy.”
“Sergeant Voigt.”
“Yes, sorry.” Sara smiled at him. She loved reporting to Voigt and couldn’t imagine a better boss. He was tough when he needed to be, but also had an understanding and relaxed nature. It was the latter that lent itself to the periodic slip of his first name.
“Anyway, Legal’s taking care of it, and it should be swept away quickly. Any more leads on the Cunningham murder?”
“Working on it right now.”
Voigt tapped the pen against his palm. “Wonderful. Let me know once you’ve got something.”
“I will.” She pressed on a smile, but the interruption had her eager to get back to the results on her screen.
As she sipped her coffee and read the reports, one name looked familiar instantly and had her heart racing.
They had their guy.
Sean’s breath uneven, his hands quaking, he read the letter.
Dear Mr. McKinley,
If you’re reading this letter, it means I’m no longer here. Don’t be sad. Don’t have any regrets. I know you are the type of person to beat yourself up over past misgivings. You have nothing to regret.
Emotion welled up in Sean’s throat and he blinked back tears.
You lived your life as you should have. You gave selflessly to others, even giving time to this old coot.
The corners of his mouth hitched upward.
You were like a son I never had and it’s why I wouldn’t leave my estate to anyone else. Find love, someone to share life with. It will give you purpose, something that no other achievement can fulfill—no matter how grand in the eyes of others.
I know you love your job. You make a difference there—you made one to me—but what I’m offering you is the world.
He glanced up again. Feelings whirled through him at such a shattering speed he couldn’t tack one down. Intuition was starting to tell him there was a lot more to Mr. Quinn than he knew.
He went back to the letter.
Never lose your gift, Sean. You can see people. You can bring kindness back to a world that has all but given up on this attribute. Money can bring one a lot of great things, but it can also bring pain. Make wise choices. Follow your heart.
And, please, from an old coot to a young man, have some fun with it.
Your friend forever,
Mr. Douglas Quinn
The room was silent, except for the sound of his heart beating in his ears. What was Quinn talking about when he mentioned money bringing great things?
“Did you read the letter in full, Mr. McKinley?” Daphne asked.
“Yes.” It took a lot to pry the single word from his throat. It felt stitched together.
“There was a lot, I’m sensing, that you didn’t know about Mr. Quinn,” she continued.
“Right now, I’m not sure if I knew him at all.” He studied her eyes, but couldn’t read them.
“Mr. Quinn owned a lot of companies.”
“He what—” No more words would form.
“He held the controlling shares in Universal Acquisitions Corporation.”
“Sounds big.”
“Huge would be a more apt description, Mr. McKinley. They buy and sell companies that are in distress. They cleared fifty-five million in their last fiscal year alone. Mr. Quinn, with all of his interests, of which there were many besides Universal, had a net worth of twenty billion dollars.”
Oh God, he was going to be sick.
“And he left every single penny to you, including his businesses.” Daphne smiled. “Congratulations, Mr. McKinley, you are now a billionaire.”
The air went thin. His head spun. His eyes were on Daphne but not focused on anything, or anyone, in particular.
“Mr. McKinley, are you all right?” Anita placed her hand on his forearm.
“He left me everything?”
Peter smiled. “Yes, he did.”
“Will I have to run all of his companies? Where is Universal located?”
Daphne gestured toward the man in the bowtie.
“Mr. McKinley, my name is Edward Cranston, and this is Kate Brackett,” he referred to the woman beside him, “I am the CEO for Universal. As you inquired, it is located in New York. It was Mr. Quinn’s explicit wish that you retain the controlling shares and interest in the company, however, you are not required to be involved in the daily management decisions.”
Sean didn’t know what to say.
Kate leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table,
the action only amplifying her anorexic frame. “I was Mr. Quinn’s accountant and responsible for managing all of his assets. It would be appropriate that we meet once everything is taken care of. You also have the right to decide if you want to continue on as my client, which I trust you will.” She offered a subtle smile, which only flashed brief light into her eyes. “You are, of course, free to choose another financial representative.”
Sean’s head was spinning. Less than an hour ago, he had a beat-up car, a rental house, a battered couch and lived paycheck to paycheck. In a matter of minutes, he had become a multi-billionaire with businesses and accountants.
Daphne brought over a small wooden chest and placed it on the table in front of him. “This box is to be opened by you. None of us have seen the contents.”
Sean pinched the latch on the chest.
Daphne smiled as she handed him the key. “You can open this here, or in private. That is up to you. Now, we will need to take care of some paperwork. We only require about a hundred signatures.” She laughed.
He nodded, but his mind was trying to process everything. He came in a working man and he would leave never needing to work another day in his life.
He signed the paperwork, his thoughts skipping everywhere, but mainly focused on the two pieces of advice from Quinn’s letter—to find love and to follow his heart. To Sean, these two things were one and the same. But how to go about it?
“How fast will I have access to the money?” he asked.
Daphne smiled. “It will take a few days for everything to be finalized, but it’s technically yours now.”
“A few days?” Now that he had the money, he had a purchase to make as soon as possible—the most perfect birthday gift for Sara. “Is there any way I could access some of it immediately?”
The Graham siblings shared looks, but Kate Brackett answered. “That can definitely be arranged.”
What’s In A Name
CUNNINGHAM’S FACEBOOK TIMELINE SHOWED HIM complaining of “druggies” coming to his door looking for an Eddie. It turns out Eddie was also the name of a well-known drug dealer that lived one street over from Cunningham’s house.
Sara knocked on the door again. “Open up. Albany PD!”
She heard scuffling inside, footsteps going this way and that, things being moved around. She glanced behind. Two squad cars and three uniforms backed her up; one stood at the base of the stairs with his gun readied. A narcotics detective had offered to come along but she’d declined him. If things went sideways, she had enough fire power.
“Once more. Albany PD! You open up or we’re coming in.”
The deadbolt clunked as it was unlocked and the door opened, only the amount the chain would allow.
One eyeball looked at her through the crack.
She held up her badge. “We’re looking for Eddie.”
“He’s not here.” The guy went to close the door, but Sara pushed her boot against it to prevent that from happening.
“Let us see for ourselves.”
“No. No way.” The guy shook his head rapidly.
“We have something of his he may want back.” Sara held up a baggie of white powder—the one they had collected was coke, but this one contained icing sugar.
“It’s not ours.”
“Funny. It was taken off one of your customers.”
She pulled her leg back and the door shut, then the chain slid across and the door opened.
He kept most of his body concealed, but extended a hand. “Let me see.”
Sara handed over the baggie.
He held it in the light, and then said, “One minute.”
“Sure.”
She was thankful for one trait she possessed—patience. She also preferred to give people the benefit of the doubt. It was something that she was ridiculed for in her line of work, but it secured her role as “good cop.”
Footsteps bounded back.
“This ain’t drugs, lady. It’s sugar.” He handed her back the powder and closed the door.
For some reason, hearing him say what she already knew provided a revelation. The man who shot Cunningham was carrying drugs, so he wasn’t there looking for Eddie to score—she knew what happened.
She couldn’t wait to tell Sean how close they were to solving this case. She dialed his cell but it rang to voice mail. She tried again and met with the same result, so she hung up without leaving a message.
“Hmm. That’s strange.”
She’d have to keep going about this alone and fill him in later.
The Dream
SEAN WASN’T JUST A RICH man—he was an extremely wealthy one.
It was repayment for one kind act, hinging back to that convenience store, from over a decade ago. Talk about the ripple effect.
Quinn’s letter said to “find love.” He already knew who he needed in his life, and now, thanks to the old man, he’d make it happen.
He walked out of the lawyer’s office, with the chest tucked under an arm, his newfound wealth providing a bounce to his gait. Life had been flipped upside down. Anything that had troubled him before, he now had the means to eradicate.
He would make it so Sara couldn’t say no. It was now up to him to dig into his repressed romantic side and sway her over.
He set the chest on the passenger seat and his cell rang. He checked the caller ID and, when he saw it was Sara, sent it to voice mail. He couldn’t talk to her yet. He had to get things in order first.
He tucked the phone in the console, his attention diverting to the chest. He didn’t open it in front of the lawyers—should he now?
He resisted the urge. He was going to take care of something else first, but with each stoplight, his eyes drifted to it.
Crazy, it was probably handkerchiefs.
His mind was torn between the chest and winning Sara’s heart, but the latter gained victory.
He merged back into traffic. His thoughts centered on popular chic flicks—When Harry Met Sally…, Sleepless in Seattle, Shall we Dance?, The Notebook, You’ve Got Mail, Pretty Woman, The Titanic, and let’s not discount their all-time favorite, An Affair to Remember.
Girls loved large romantic gestures.
It might have helped if he had watched most of these movies. Of the ones he did know, they didn’t fit his circumstances. There wasn’t any secrecy. They had reciprocal feelings. While he could now carry off the role of the wealthy businessman, Edward Lewis, in Pretty Woman, Sara was no Vivian Ward. There would be no sinking ship, no escalator to ride up, wearing a tuxedo while clutching a single rose to his chest, and there was no Empire State Building in Albany, New York.
To sum it up, the line from Jerry Maguire fit best. “You had me at hello.” That was exactly how he felt about Sara.
And despite having the means to buy her anything she dreamed of, she was down to earth and found happiness in simple things—but maybe it was because she was accustomed to that?
He’d figure something out.
The clock read four fifteen when he pulled into the station parking lot.
He found Sara at her desk, slumped forward, her hand to her forehead. She looked up when she must have heard him approach.
“Where have you been?” Despite her obvious attempts at being cross, there was a hint of happiness in her eyes.
“I had that appointment. You knew about it.” He smiled at her. He was so nervous he feared his next breath wouldn’t come.
“Yes, how did it go? I tried to reach you a few times.”
He had to act now or drown in emotions. “Please, put your coat on, Sara. Trust me.”
“Sean, what are you doing? Don’t you want to know why I was trying to reach you?”
There was a tinge of rejection and hurt in her voice. He took a deep breath.
“I apologize.”
She nodded. “I believe we’ve found Mr. Cunningham’s killer.”
“Good, good.”
“Sean, don’t you want to know more?”
“Su
re, yes, of course. Continue.”
“We figured it was a case of mistaken identity, and we were leaning toward an addict looking to score drugs—well, that wasn’t the case.” She filled him in on her day. “It stood to reason, he wasn’t there for that purpose because he had drugs already. It turns out he was hired by a rival drug dealer to kill Eddie. Eddie’s one street over from Cunningham, same house number.” Sara beamed. “And we’ve got the rival dealer and one of his customers in custody. The boot prints, the fake fur, all of it lines up. We even got the gun.”
He let out another breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
“So, what is it Sean?”
“Put your coat on. I need to show you something.”
“Okay.”
She had just slipped her second arm in the sleeve when he walked over and snapped on handcuffs—one to her wrist, the other to his.
“Sean?”
“Not one word right now. Please. Just trust me. Come on.”
She moved in line with him. “Where are you taking me?”
“Like I said, I need you to trust me.”
His heart was pounding. He had tunnel vision and his appendages tingled with adrenaline as he led her to the parking lot and his beat-up Chevy.
“This part will be tricky.”
Sara was laughing. “What are you doing?”
“You’ve heard the saying, you sound like a parrot?” He laughed. “I’ll slip through the passenger side and over the console.” He started to put his plan into action and realized the futility of it.
“You’re crazy—”
He pressed his index finger to her lips and her eyes met his.
Carolyn Arnold - McKinley 01 - The Day Job is Murder Page 4