Seeking the Shore

by Donna Gentry Morton

  Richard had surprised him with a stern glare and a voice that matched it. “Drunkenness, Leyton, is a weak man’s excuse.”

  It had caused him to step back, slack-jawed. Where was the all-forgiving Richard, the beaming father-in-law whose eyes were blind and ears were deaf when it came to him? For the first time, Leyton wrestled with uneasiness as he considered the changes he had noted in Richard lately, the distraction, the dwindling invitations to meet on the green. Until now, he had written them off as Richard adjusting to a new routine. But he suddenly wondered if Richard was losing faith in him, if he suspected something, if he was finally seeing through the golden armor of Leyton Drakeworth.

  With such concerns weighing on his mind, the last place he wanted to be was out of town, away from his files and his dealings.

  “I’ll call you from Atlanta,” he told Polli, “but not while you’re at work. Mr. Sheffield mustn’t know about us and our feelings.” He faked a smile and dangled the bait. “At least not yet.”

  “I swear I won’t say a word.” She crossed her heart.

  “I’ll trust you not to.” He used a beverage straw to direct the ice cubes around his glass of bourbon. “Trust is very important in a relationship, don’t you think, Paulette? Especially one that has the potential of ours.”

  “Oh, sure, but don’t worry about me,” Polli promised.

  Frankly, Leyton wasn’t worried about Polli’s ability to be trusted. She was the type to do anything for a guy who promised tomorrow, and as long as he could keep leading her like a cat pursuing a string, everything would work out fine with Miss Polli Raffton. He knew he’d eventually have to enter into a full-fledged affair with the girl, and that was an idea he didn’t relish. She would grow whinier and cling like a parasite, but there wasn’t much else he could do if it came to that. The sweet talk that turned her to mush and the visions of a future were fine for now, but they wouldn’t hold him for two years.

  Two years. That was still his goal. He would have the security of Julianna’s trust fund by then, and a whole lot more.

  As for Polli, well, she wouldn’t know it was over until he was on the fastest luxury train out of town.

  Julianna never imagined being so glad to see Dreamland. What had once seemed like her prison was now a haven, brighter than the house she shared with Leyton, and certainly safer for her and Mari.

  “Sure good to have you back,” Jimmy Mac said as he put together a crib for Mari. “Almost like the old days.”

  Julianna didn’t long for the old days, though, as they had not been the happiest times in her life either. Just like the present. What she was restless for was a new life, one that didn’t carry any hint of Leyton.

  It would begin with a visit to her father’s study. He called for her the first day she was back at Dreamland, the doors opening like a drawbridge leading into the king’s castle. Her times in this privileged room had been few, but here she was, facing her father as he sat behind his desk, motioning for her to sit across from him.

  She was barely sitting before he spoke, his voice heavy and blank as though he found his own words too shocking to believe.

  “Leyton is embezzling from the bank.”

  She thought of several ways to respond—I told you so, I knew it, and you should have listened to me. But she didn’t have the heart to make a taunting statement to a man who looked so broken, a man who was having to face his own bad judgment calls.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” she said. “I know you’re disappointed.”

  “That’s a mild description,” he told her as his eyes traveled to the ceiling above his desk. They stayed there for a minute, as if hoping an answer to his dilemma would suddenly write itself across the plaster. When he returned his attention to Julianna, his words jolted her like an electrical shock. “His actions are much worse than those of Jace McAllister.”

  Jace McAllister. The name her father once said should never be spoken under this roof. Her father went on. “I’m sure McAllister tried to justify his actions. I never wanted to hear them, and I still don’t. Even a good reason won’t make it right.”

  “That’s true.” Julianna stared at her hands folded in her lap. “Jace would agree, too.”

  “I never gave McAllister anything, though,” her father said. “But I gave Leyton everything.”

  Julianna could hear the controlled rage in his voice, could see it in his actions as he got up and moved to the window overlooking the front grounds. “What McAllister did was bank robbery. What Leyton did was . . .” his fists clenched at his sides. “What Leyton did was betrayal.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “From the bank’s comptroller, Fletcher Valentine.” Her father’s back was still to her. “He found discrepancies in the books. Subtle but solid. We began tracking them last fall, eventually confirming our fears.”

  “I’m surprised that Leyton didn’t do a better job covering his trail.”

  “Oh, he covered his trail nicely.” Her father returned to his desk. “His mistake was underestimating the brilliance of Valentine. The dalliances of Leyton might have gone unnoticed for a long time had Valentine been anything less than exceptional at his job.”

  Julianna thought of Fletcher, socially frozen and pitifully clumsy, hardly the sort one would see at a party and deem exceptional.

  “I plan to confront him, but beyond that, I’m not sure. If he wasn’t married into the family, it would only be a matter of firing him, but things are . . . complicated.”

  She looked at her wedding band, a golden, hypocritical circle of love and unity given by a man whose achievements were built by destroying others.

  “We know what he’s done,” her father continued. “He’s the only one who would have the knowledge and access to make the transactions that have been made.” He smacked his fist against his palm. “What I need is proof. I can’t move until I have some.”

  “Do you have any?” she asked, her hopes draining away. Leyton wasn’t sloppy, and this was where the trail might turn cold.

  “The night of the Birthday Ball, I allowed Fletcher to enter Leyton’s office and search for anything incriminating. He turned up nothing, but I know there has to be evidence of bank accounts, possibly offshore, wire transfers, paper corporations, something to show me where the money is going and how it’s being channeled. “

  Julianna thought of where Leyton might stash such information, but only came up with the safe in their bedroom closet. Reaching the same conclusion, her father asked, “What about the safe you have at home?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think he would hide paperwork there, mainly because it’s a safe I know the combination to.” She thought harder. It would be in a location only he spent time in, somewhere he considered private territory, a place that gave him fingertip access to the personal information.

  “His study at home,” she said suddenly. “Nobody is allowed in there. Not even the maid can go in to dust.”

  Her father looked hopeful. “I’ll need for you to take Valentine to the house and show him where things might be. Can you do that, Julianna?”

  You have to ask? she thought, delighted to have the opportunity. “Of course I can do that, Father, but I need to be sure Leyton won’t walk in on us.” The thought of Leyton catching her and Fletcher riffling through his desk sent a quick shiver charging up and down her spine.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll detain him on the golf course,” her father said. “But I need this done as soon as possible, before he leaves for the convention in Atlanta. If I’ve got the proof before he leaves, I can use the time he’s gone to arrange my next move, which might involve authorities coming in to do their own investigation.”

  “Seeing authorities around would definitely make him suspicious,” Julianna noted. “Father, do you think . . . is there any chance he could already suspect you’re on to him?” Her eyebrows knitted with concern. “Because if he does, he’s not planning to leave any information behind. He’ll pack it all into his
briefcase and take it to Atlanta, meaning if he goes to his files—or wherever he keeps things—and finds anything missing . . .”

  “We can only hope that won’t happen,” her father said. “Besides, I don’t think he suspects anything, Julianna. He certainly won’t if I invite him to play golf and act like I’m ready to mend fences after that fiasco at the Birthday Ball.”

  Julianna nodded, feeling more relaxed about the plan. Was Leyton’s downfall on the verge of happening? She shivered again, but this time it was from a surge of excitement.

  Fletcher was a wreck as Julianna drove him to the house on River Drive. Even her casual chit-chat about rain and sunshine made him feel like he was on the verge of going into a tailspin powered by his social insecurity.

  He hated himself for being a social loser, but how could he change? This was him, the way he’d been his whole life, unable to have a normal conversation with anyone, especially women. They made him fidget, shift his feet, and grab his hankie so he could mop sweat from his forehead.

  Numbers were different. Numbers and figures and thick ledger books with their gorgeous green lines and boxes. He was comfortable with them, as masterful and confident as a prizefighter stepping into the ring. As long as the topic focused on numbers and business, he could communicate with ease.

  He violently scratched his rib cage. The itchy red rash had been tormenting him a lot lately, instigated by worry. It was because of the embezzlement he had come upon, and it hounded him as he tossed in his bed at night, staring into the blackness of his room at the Teaberry Boarding House. It went with him as he left the house every morning, joining him at his favorite diner where he had his predictable breakfast of one egg over medium, two sausage links, and a piece of toast buttered on both sides.

  He had been scared silly to take his suspicions to Mr. Sheffield, what with the accused being the son-in-law. At first, the bank’s owner had been defensive of his newly appointed president, but facts were facts. The books weren’t lying, so Mr. Sheffield had reluctantly—or maybe fearfully—allowed Fletcher’s eagle eye to keep watch and report anything out of kilter. It had brought him to this point, going into Mr. Drakeworth’s house, preparing to invade his personal realm.

  He followed Julianna inside and watched her try the door to Leyton’s study. “Locked, just as I suspected,” she said. “He carries the key on his keychain with all his others, and I have no idea where there might be a spare.”

  Fletcher cleared his throat and mustered up the courage to make a suggestion. “Uh, a sc-screwdriver, may-maybe.”

  “Of course,” she said and smiled. “I do know where one of those is. Excuse me one minute.”

  Fletcher eyed the doorknob, knowing it would be easy enough to remove. They would just have to be very precise when they put it back on, ensuring Mr. Drakeworth didn’t have reason to believe it had been tampered with.

  Julianna returned, and Fletcher removed the knob with little trouble. Then they pushed open the door to Mr. Drakeworth’s sacred room. Fletcher followed her inside and to a large desk that had four drawers.

  “That one could hold files.” Julianna pointed to the bottom one, which was bigger than the rest. It was locked tight and it didn’t offer them the convenience of screws that could be removed. Its handle was actually an indention carved right into the wood.

  Now Fletcher watched as Julianna slid a hairpin from the waves piled loosely atop her head. “I once saw a man use a blade from his pocket knife to spring open a lighthouse door,” she explained. “This keyhole is much smaller, so maybe this skinny hairpin will turn the little mechanism inside. Let’s hope.”

  She kneeled before the drawer and carefully jiggled the pin inside its keyhole. Within a minute, Fletcher was relieved to hear her say, “Ah, I don’t believe it. The hair pin worked!” She stood up and smiled. “I’ll turn it over to you, Mr. Valentine.”

  He went to work tunneling through the file drawer like a gopher, yanking manila folders and slapping them on the desk. Going through them one by one, he murmured words like Amazing . . . Daring . . . Uh huh . . . I thought so, constantly pushing his thick, black glasses up the bridge of his shiny nose and occasionally giving his right side a quick scratch.

  Next, he removed papers from each file. Not a lot of papers, but just the ones that showed certain dates and particular deposits and balances. Feeling at home in his element and among the world of figures, Fletcher was able to say, “What I’ve taken are statements from other financial institutions where Mr. Drakeworth holds accounts. I’ll compare the dates and transactions listed on the statements to what has gone missing from the People’s Standard, but I’ve already seen enough to know the numbers and the timelines are going to fit the bill. We’ve got him.” Done now, he returned everything to the drawer just as he had found them and then stood back as Julianna used the hairpin to lock it up.

  Unless Mr. Drakeworth scrutinized his files page by page, he wouldn’t know anything was missing. Hopefully, if he decided to take them to Atlanta, he would simply gather them up and toss them into his bags.

  Fletcher was counting on that, and he knew that Mr. Sheffield and his daughter were, too.

  “I should have him arrested,” Richard said after seeing the papers retrieved by Fletcher and Julianna. Disgusted, he gestured toward the information spread across the desk in his study. “Bank accounts everywhere . . . fed with my money.”

  “Will you do that, Mr. Sheffield?” Fletcher asked. “Will you have Mr. Drakeworth arrested?”

  “I don’t know.” Richard braced his elbows on the desk and rubbed his temples. “I have a lot of thinking to do. Even knowing what I now know, I still need Leyton to go to Atlanta.”

  “Why invest more time or money in him?” Fletcher gave his glasses a shove as they started a lazy slide down his nose. “You can’t possibly intend to keep the man around.”

  “Of course not,” Richard said, opening his eyes. “I’m just not sure how to terminate our relationship. I want a clean break, but he’s married to my daughter. That makes it tricky.”

  “Your daughter was most willing to help us gather information, so I hardly see her as a deterrent. I gather the union isn’t happy.”

  “No, it’s not,” Richard said, suddenly light-headed as a wave of guilt washed over him. And who forced the marriage? he asked himself. “I don’t think Leyton will sign divorce papers unless there’s something in it for him.”

  “It’s a shame your daughter is so trapped.”

  Another wave of guilt. Richard took a deep breath to clear his head, and as he did, a possibility found its way in. “He might divorce her if . . .”

  “What, Mr. Sheffield?”

  “If I agreed not to press embezzlement charges against him.”

  “Should he be allowed to walk away, though?” Fletcher appeared torn, trying to understand his employer’s dual position of businessman and father. “Scot-free?”

  Richard couldn’t answer. He needed to think. Long and hard, day and night. That’s why he wanted Leyton in Atlanta, away from here and out of sight, giving him time to figure out the best strategy for maneuvering this game of chess.

  Virginia let herself in the front door of Dreamland and called up to Julianna. “I’ll be in the drawing room, sweets!” She headed that way, growing closer to Polli, who was seated at her desk.

  The squatter, Virginia thought, not sure if she was going to speak to Polli or not. The secretary was glaring, though, watching Virginia with a combination of jealousy and hatred. That being the case, Virginia chose to show Polli how unaffected she was by the cold stance.

  She greeted her brightly. “Hello, Polli with an I.” She breezed past the desk and into the drawing room, where she sat on the sofa, long legs gracefully crossed as she retrieved a cigar from her purse. This was her newest vice, adopted after predictions that a cigarette ration might occur if America ever joined the overseas war.

  Oh, strong, she thought as she inhaled. Her cheeks puffed and her eyes watered,
then she released the smoke with a cough. Very strong. She tried it again, though, and again after that.

  Polli slapped her hands on her desk. “How can you stand that stinkin’ cigar of yours?”

  “How can you stand that frizzin’ hair of yours?” Virginia called back as she studied the fat cigar, rolling it between her index and middle fingers.

  Polli fell into a smoldering quiet as Virginia continued to experiment with the cigar until Julianna came downstairs.

  “Sorry, Mari was just about to drift off when you came in,” she said as she handed Virginia the silver necklace she had worn with her blue gown at the ball.

  “Thanks, sweets,” Virginia said as she took the necklace. “This will be perfect for tonight. Can you believe I’m going to a banquet without a date?”

  “No, I honestly can’t,” Julianna said. “What happened to,” she hesitated, embarrassed that she couldn’t remember the name of Virginia’s last boyfriend, “the one who painted?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve forgotten his name, too.” Virginia gave a flippant wave. “Oh, he got a job painting a mural on some building downtown. You’d think he was redoing the Sistine Chapel the way he went on. All he cared about was that stupid mural.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’m dreading this banquet, but it’s for Daddy’s polo club. He’d be heartbroken if I didn’t go.”

  “I’m sure you’ll make the most if it,” Julianna said, walking her friend to the door. “By the way, I’m almost afraid to ask, but why are you smoking a cigar?” She wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell.

  Virginia was in the midst of explaining as they opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. She stopped talking as her eyes caught sight of Fletcher Valentine coming up the walk, his pants and jacket miserably mismatched, a huge inkblot prominent on his white shirt. He looked frazzled with his glasses sitting lopsided and his dark hair disheveled.