In Their Blood: A Novel

by Sharon Potts

  Like to find whoever had done this terrible, terrible thing?

  She ran up the stairs to her mother’s office. In here. There must be something in here. But what? What was she looking for?

  The blinds were partially closed and the outside light cast thin white lines over the desk, the walls, the small area rug. Her mother’s scent pulled Elise into the room. The same scent was on her mother’s tee shirt. The one Elise had found in the downstairs closet with three teardrops of blood. Her mother had worn it the day they came home from Madrid and Elise slept in it every night.

  She sniffed the room hungrily. If she closed her eyes— but no. She wasn’t going to do that now. She’d hold the memories for later. She focused instead on the details.

  On top of the desk were a Tiffany lamp, desk blotter calendar, paperweight, family photos, crystal clock, printer, and a docking station. No computer. Her mother had used only her laptop and brought it back and forth between home and work. Her dad had done the same. So with their laptops stolen, there was no way of knowing if either of them had anything on their computers that might lead Elise to the murderer.

  Unless they’d backed up their laptops.

  Elise pulled open drawers. The files, papers, and reports were disarranged, as though someone had already gone through them. At the back of one drawer, she found stacks of floppies and computer CDs. She examined the labels on the CDs, looking for something that might be current.

  Nothing. She sank to the floor. A clipboard with a yellow pad was leaning against the side of the desk. The pad was covered with line after line of tight, scribbly writing. Just like Elise’s make-believe writing when she was a little girl. She pulled the clipboard against her chest and began to sob. She sobbed until the room became woozy and she was floating again.

  Floating. Just floating.

  A soft touch on her shoulder. “Elise,” the voice said. “Elise.”

  She opened her eyes.

  “Hey, Ellie,” Jeremy said. “What are you doing?”

  Elise was hugging the clipboard like a pillow. “It, it wasn’t a burglar,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “A burglar doesn’t make sense.” Jeremy was in a tee shirt and jeans. Hadn’t he been wearing a suit this morning?

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I was planning to,” he said. “Tonight, after I got everything arranged.”

  “Arranged?”

  “I got a job at PCM and I’m taking night classes at MIU. I start tomorrow.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I need to get on the inside and try to figure out who might have had a motive.”

  “A motive?”

  “Yeah.” He sorted through the CDs. “I see you’ve been busy.”

  “I was looking for clues,” she said. “The, the murderer took their laptops. So I was thinking that there was something important on them. And maybe Mom had backups.”

  “These are pretty old,” Jeremy said, “but I’ll check them out.”

  “The police left a mess. Mom never made a mess.”

  “I know.”

  “And they probably took the newer CDs.”

  “I’ll call the detective and ask her. I see you’ve found your clipboard.”

  “My clipboard?”

  “I told you at breakfast. You were in here last night. You were scribbling away.”

  She studied the wavy, regular lines. She must have been holding the pen very tightly because she had practically pushed through the paper. “I wonder what I was trying to write.”

  Chapter 10

  The new-employee packet and company-issue laptop rested on the coffee table in the alcove outside the partners’ offices. Jeremy sat back on the hard leather sofa. The inner sanctum waiting area was complete with an areca palm in a brushed steel pot, several newsletters with the PCM logo at the top, a dish of hard candies, and an irritating painting made up of geometric shapes that changed with the angle of view. Was the painting supposed to symbolize the clever ways accountants were known to manipulate the rules?

  Bud’s secretary, Gladys, had told Jeremy he’d been assigned to Irving Luria and to knock on Irv’s door when he was done with his paperwork. Jeremy had done that, but there was no answer. Rather than barge into the office as he’d done yesterday at his father’s office, Jeremy had decided to wait here.

  He was wearing one of his new suits and a white shirt with thin blue stripes that he’d taken out of its packaging this morning. Wrinkle-free, the salesman had said. But the shirt was covered with packing creases and Jeremy hadn’t had time to iron it. Not that he knew how, or even where the iron was. So he had planned to keep his jacket on, though now he was regretting his decision as he felt himself perspiring under the heat of the overhead halogen lights.

  He tapped his fingers against the armrest. The alcove was directly across from his mother’s office. Its door was shut. He wondered if his mother’s things had been packed away in cartons. Had his uncle already been here, posing as the family representative, and taken what interested him?

  The hallway was deserted. It really wouldn’t be all that difficult to sneak into his mother’s office. In fact, could someone have done that before she died? Taken her key, made a copy, returned it without her knowing? Then used the copy to get into the house the night of the murder? It seemed possible.

  The door to his mother’s office beckoned him. Just a quick look. Just in and out. He leaned forward on the sofa and listened. A phone rang in the distance.

  He went quickly to the door. Before he could turn the handle, it opened. A young woman with short, black hair and blue eyes stared at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think anyone was in here.” He recognized her from the gathering at the Castillos’ house. Hadn’t she wanted to talk to him that afternoon?

  Low laughter echoed down the hallway. Deep voices were coming toward them.

  The woman pushed past him and hurried away through an exit door. What the hell was that all about, and what had she been doing in his mother’s office?

  The voices were closer. Jeremy stepped back toward the alcove and picked up a magazine just as Bud McNally and Enrique Castillo rounded the corner. He was surprised to see Mr. Castillo until he remembered that Castillo Enterprises was a major client of the firm’s.

  “Jeremy,” Bud said, “good morning.”

  Jeremy shook their hands. His palm was sweaty.

  Bud turned to Enrique, who had a surprised but curious expression on his face. “Jeremy’s come to work with us,” Bud said.

  “In fact?” Enrique raised his eyebrows. “You’re not returning to Europe, Jeremy?”

  Jeremy shook his head. Although he was in his new clothes, Jeremy felt awkward next to these two old pros who were so at ease in their surroundings.

  “He wants to stay in Miami, to be here for his sister,” Bud said.

  “Good, very good,” Enrique said.

  “And he’s finishing up his degree over at MIU,” Bud said. “Isn’t that right, Jeremy?”

  “I’ve already enrolled in a couple of night classes.”

  “Excellent.” Bud squeezed Jeremy’s shoulder. “I’m expecting Jeremy to make us all proud when the time comes for him to sit for the CPA exam.”

  “I’m sure he will. Certainly, if he takes after his mother.” Enrique took a deep breath, causing his nostrils to flare. A gold stickpin propped up his silk tie. “Your mother was a brilliant auditor. She’d worked on the Casillo Enterprises audit many years ago. I was delighted when she returned this year to take over for Irv.” Enrique turned toward Bud. “Perhaps Jeremy would be interested in learning about the real estate and sugar industries.”

  Bud retained his congenial expression, but something seemed to be going on behind it. “How about it, Jeremy?” he said. “Would you like to work on the Castillo Enterprises engagement?”

  “I’d like that very much.

  “I�
�m sure Rachel would have liked Jeremy following in her footsteps,” said Enrique.

  Just then Irving Luria sidled up to his office, glancing off the hallway wall with his shoulder. Had he been drinking or did he just have poor balance?

  “Morning, Irv,” Bud said.

  Irv grunted. His seersucker suit and bow tie looked as though he’d slept in them. Jeremy remembered Irv from when he was a child. Irv used to laugh a lot then. A booming laugh that would carry across the room.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you up so early, Irv,” Enrique said. “And I see how fortunate I’ve been. You’re quite the bear.”

  “Nice to see everyone else so bright eyed and bushy tailed.” Irv was about to slam his office door behind him.

  “Irv,” Bud said, “one second. Jeremy’s here to help you with that project of yours.”

  Irv looked at Jeremy like he was a cockroach crawling into his Scotch.

  “Whenever he finishes up with you,” Bud was saying, “we’ll send him out to Castillo Enterprises.”

  Irv scowled at Bud. Or maybe it was just a permanent expression— anger cast in stone. Then he closed his office door.

  “Well, on to your first assignment, my boy.” Bud patted Jeremy on the back. “Irv’s bark is worse than his bite.”

  Enrique shook Jeremy’s hand. “Come to dinner. Any time. You and Elise are always welcome.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  Enrique gave a little smile. “You look good without the beard, Jeremy. I wonder if I should shave my own.”

  Bud laughed. “Don’t you dare, Enrique. Your beard defines you. The last of the redoubtable Castillos.”

  “Not the last, Bud. Don’t forget Carlos.” And the two men disappeared into Bud’s office.

  Jeremy knocked on Irv’s door, then when he didn’t hear any response, knocked again. He knocked one more time, then opened the door. The room was dark: the blinds drawn and the lights off. Jeremy could make out Irv sitting behind his desk, putting something into one of the drawers, then slamming it shut.

  “May I come in?” Jeremy asked.

  “You’re a little late asking. Seems you’re already in.”

  Jeremy stood awkwardly near the door. Irv didn’t invite him to sit down.

  Years ago, Irv had been a much different person. He was gruff then, sure, but there’d been amusement in the bluish eyes that were now clouded by disinterest. He had always been an ugly man, reminding Jeremy of a gnome with his hunched back and oversized head. He probably would have scared Jeremy, except for the playful way his mother interacted with him. Jeremy couldn’t help thinking of Beauty and the Beast.

  “What are you doing here?” Irv’s voice was jarring.

  “I understand you have a project for me.”

  “I don’t mean that. What are you doing working here?”

  “Didn’t Mr. McNally tell you?”

  “Sure. He fed me a line of bullshit that you’ve decided to become a responsible adult now that you have guardianship obligations. I want to know why you’re really here.”

  Jeremy was glad the room was dark so Irv couldn’t see the blood rush to his face.

  “Never mind.” Irv pushed his chair back, then rose as though the process was painful. “But let me tell you something. If you’re on some misguided quest, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Jeremy, his new laptop tucked under his arm, followed Irv to an area two levels below the main offices, on the eleventh floor. Irv hadn’t talked on the way. Now he unlocked a door and flicked on the switch. Like battle-weary soldiers, the overhead fluorescent light fixtures responded slowly with quivering, uncertain brightness. They were in a huge file room extending back maybe half the length of the building. There were hundreds of tall gray file cabinets and steel shelving units and papers everywhere. Despite its vastness, the room smelled close.

  “This is the old file room,” Irv said. “We haven’t used it in years. Some of our partners were sentimental about parting with their client workpapers. Now those partners are retired or dead and we need the space for all the new staff people we’ve been hiring.” He nodded his head toward a stack of unassembled cartons. “Box ’em up.”

  “All of them?” Jeremy said.

  “Yeah. And make a detailed list of everything.” Irv turned to leave.

  “But this could take weeks,” Jeremy said.

  “At least that,” the partner said and closed the door behind him.

  Jeremy removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He couldn’t help wondering if this was supposed to be a test. Like Hercules being assigned to cleaning out the horse manure in the Augean stables.

  He sorted through thick binders of dusty working papers, entering their contents into his new laptop, and then sticking them into the cartons he’d assembled himself. The edges of some of the covers were razor sharp and Jeremy stopped from time to time to suck the sting out of a paper cut.

  Each binder contained hours of work by a PCM auditor, whose name and initials were clearly indicated on the cover. There were tests the auditors had done, their assessments, and their conclusions. Jeremy couldn’t believe the firm was just getting around to disposing of this stuff.

  The sorting and boxing was mindless, menial work. It was also frustrating, giving Jeremy no opportunity to mix with any of the other staff. If he couldn’t talk to people, how was he going to find out anything about his mother?

  His mind wandered back to the woman he’d seen leaving his mother’s office. She may have had a legitimate reason for being in there, but then, why had she acted so oddly?

  By the late afternoon, he was relieved when he heard the door to the file room open and slam shut. Even Irv would be welcome. But it was Gladys who popped her gray head around the cabinets, sniffing the air like a hunting dog. “I’ll bet a person could get cancer inhaling these mites and spores.”

  “You shouldn’t say stuff like that, Gladys. If I do get sick, then I’ll sue PCM.”

  She seemed to think that was funny and sat down on a filled carton. “Just like your mother. Such a kidder.” She wore thick stockings with her rubber-soled shoes. Support stockings, Jeremy’s grandmother used to call them. Gladys held something out for him. “I noticed you skipped lunch. Trying to get a gold star?”

  Jeremy tore the wrapper off a granola bar filled with chocolate chips. He took a big bite. “Thanks, Gladys.” She was right about him being hungry, but how did she know he hadn’t left for lunch?

  “I don’t know what Irv’s thinking.” Gladys shook her head as she peered down the aisle. “He was going to get the archive company to box the files, then when he heard you were coming, he changed his mind.” She reached into the pocket of her full skirt and took out two more granola bars. One she handed to Jeremy, the other she opened for herself. “He’s become impossible lately.”

  “Really? Why’s that?”

  She stopped chewing and frowned at him.

  He backpedaled. “I was just wondering if I’ve done something to offend him. I don’t imagine this is the most glamorous job in the firm.”

  Gladys relaxed. “Irv’s a crotchety old man. Not that he’s so old— not even sixty-three. But he’s angry at the world and that ages a person.” She stood up from the carton. Jeremy was surprised by the ease with which she moved. She was several years older than Irv, but except for the deep wrinkles on her face and hands, one would never know it. “And he was so different a few years ago. Such an inspiration.”

  “What changed him?”

  “What happens to people whose lives revolve around their work? If they don’t have a little love, a few interests, they become narrow and bitter. Maybe they even start drinking a little more than is good for them. Because they know once they can’t work anymore, they’ll have nothing.”

  Gladys handed Jeremy a third granola bar. How many more did she have hidden away in her pockets? “It’s almost five,” she said. “Why don’t you call it a day?”

  He surveyed t
he endless file cabinets.

  “Come on.” She patted the crumbs off her skirt and stood up. “It’ll all be here tomorrow.”

  And he was pretty sure she was right about that.

  Chapter 11

  Jeremy didn’t have class until six thirty. He sat in his mother’s Lexus in PCM’s parking garage, trying to decide what to do for the next hour. Cars were backing out of parking spaces all around him. The five o’clock rush. It was hot in the Lexus. He turned on the ignition to let the air circulate, then took out Judy Lieber’s business card. This time, he dialed the number.

  “Lieber,” she said, rushed or irritated.

  “This is Jeremy Stroeb. Sorry to bother you.”

  “Jeremy. I thought you’d left town.”

  “No. I’m still here.”

  “I see.”

  “I was wondering if you have a few minutes to meet with me. I don’t have class until six thirty.”

  “Class?”

  “Yeah. At MIU.”

  She hesitated for a second, then suggested a McDonald’s a few blocks from the campus.

  It took Jeremy twenty minutes to get there. The restaurant was brightly lit and surprisingly clean. A party of eight or ten preschoolers were screeching around a clown making balloon animals while their mothers watched. Jeremy didn’t see Judy Lieber. The smell of fries made him realize how hungry he was despite the granola bars Gladys had given him. He went to the counter and ordered a Big Mac, fries, and a coffee. He thought about Lieber. “Make that two coffees.”

  He brought the food outside where the sound of the kids was replaced by that of heavy rush-hour traffic. There was an enclosed play area with a slide dropping off into a pool of brightly colored plastic balls. Jeremy bit into his hamburger. Chewy, prefabricated meat.

  Lieber walked into the restaurant and looked around. Jeremy was relieved she hadn’t brought her partner along. She noticed Jeremy waving and came outside, giving him a quick nod as she sat down opposite him. She didn’t comment on the absence of his beard or his dress shirt, though she seemed to be taking everything in.

  Jeremy handed her a cup of black coffee. “I ordered you this, but if you don’t want it, that’s fine.”