by J. S. Marlo
“Not that I can—” Amanda tilted her head sideways and looked at her through two narrow slits. “I remember seeing two USB memory sticks, a black and a lime green, attached to the pink string she kept around her neck, but I only found the black one. The complete training program was on it, so I didn’t worry about the lime green. If I can’t find anything else, I’ll tell you. Can we go now? I’m exhausted.”
With these new questions in mind, Liliane closed the office for the night—and set the alarm.
~ * ~
The meeting with his lawyer had been atrocious. Whatever Damien once found irresistible in the woman he married a decade ago had vanished without a trace. Someone should have shot him while he walked down the aisle, before he reached the altar. It would have put him out of his misery sooner. His only blessing was no children were ever brought up into the toxic mix. Despite his not-soon-enough-to-be ex-wife’s claim, the dogs they adopted over the years didn’t count.
I should have remained a bachelor. I was happy and content living alone. I should have pleaded insanity.
The divorce procedures had stalled. Again. This time the spiteful woman refused to sign the papers unless she received monthly alimony for Baku and Borg—or a substantial lump sum payment. Her attorney threatened his attorney to drag their divorce into court if he didn’t pay. Fed up with her machinations, Damien had sought full custody of the yappy pooches. The request had sent her into a spiral of angry recriminations.
Before he said something that might come back to bite his wallet in court, Damien left for the airport and boarded the first available flight.
Seated in first class, he pondered the latest developments at the election office and couldn’t help but wonder if the death of the revision supervisor was connected to the murder of the returning officer.
~ * ~
Sharing the events of the day, speculating over the tragedy, and eating ice cream by the spoonful in Nathalie’s kitchen didn’t provide any answers or solve any problems, but it restored Liliane’s mental balance. The unsung power of friendship and chocolate worked wonders.
“I just remembered something. Actually, more like someone.” Nathalie twirled her spoon in the air like the conductor of a symphony. “One of the students I taught a few years back at the college landed a job in TF’s company, in the finance department to be exact. He was a nice guy, always eager to lend a hand. Maybe he could help you trace back that check?”
“It’s worth a try.” Liliane intended to sweet talk her way into the finance department, but having a contact would increase her chances of success. “What’s his name?”
“Tristan. I’ll text him tonight and ask when would be the best time for him to meet you.” Her friend scooped another spoonful of ice cream. “If you had told me at the beginning of the by-election that you’d turn into Sherlock Holmes and that I’d become Watson, I would have laughed at you. Now I want to cry.”
In her wildest dreams, or nightmares, Liliane never imagined two workers would die and a third would vanish. After they wrapped up the by-election, she would treat her friend to an afternoon at the spa to thank her for her assistance and support.
“Me too. I guess I should go home while it’s still dark.” Nobody waited for her, and the prospect of lying in bed alone depressed her, but if Liliane stayed any longer, she risked not fitting in her nightgown.
“Fine. Abandon me.” Nathalie pried the spoon from her fingers. “'I’ll see you early tomorrow morning at the gym.”
The taste of chocolate lingering on her lips and in her mouth curbed Liliane’s objections. A strenuous exercise session might convince these new calories to stay away from her hips. “I’ll see you at 6:00 a.m. Not a minute sooner. And if we find another body afterward, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
A smirk, and a smidgen of chocolate, tugged at the corner of Nathalie’s lips. “Maybe it’s the curse of the purple minions.”
Liliane didn’t believe in curses, but karma was another story.
~ * ~
The Skype call caught Jasper at the station. He retreated into his office to answer on his computer. Moments later, the smiling faces of his son and Liliane’s daughter appeared on his screen.
“Good morning,” the kids greeted in unison.
“Hi, you two. Are you still in Amsterdam?” The detailed itinerary of their trip was saved on Jasper’s phone, and if his memory served him right, the children weren’t scheduled to leave the Netherlands until tomorrow.
“Brussels. We took the train last night.” A mischievous glee twinkled in Dillon’s eyes when he glanced at his travel companion. “To make a long story short, Ariana didn’t enjoy her encounter with the pet resident yesterday.”
On the screen, the young woman swatted Dillon across the arm. “It wasn’t a pet, Dill Pickle. It was a rat. A big fat hairy rat.”
The nickname tickled Jasper. Ariana resembled her mother. Beautiful and witty. The purpose of that supper the kids asked Liliane to host defied his imagination. Not in the habit of missing subtle clues, he’d witnessed a strong friendship between their two children, but no budding romantic liaison. Both accepted scholarships in universities on opposite sides of the country and both appeared eager to start their adult lives in the months to come.
“Anyway, we decided to check out, change our train tickets, and spend an extra day in Brussels.” In light of the rodent’s presence, Dillon’s decision sounded sensible. “We were even able to book a last-minute culinary tour for this afternoon.”
Food had fascinated his son since he began to chew, so Jasper taught him everything he knew in the kitchen. By the time he turned twelve, Dillon outperformed him in an apron. The meals he cooked rivaled the ones served in five-star restaurants. Jasper would never understand why his son chose to enroll in a business program instead of pursuing his gastronomic passion, but the decision had belonged to Dillon, not him.
Ariana grinned. “It also gives us more time to visit all the chocolate factories.”
Laughter Jasper couldn’t contain surged from his belly and exploded in his office. “Young lady, you better bring back a box to your mom, a huge box, or you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll hide it in our checked luggage.” Leaning toward the screen, his son lowered his voice. “That way Ari can’t eat them.”
“I so heard that,” Ariana muttered between her teeth.
Dillon chuckled. “As you can see, Dad, we’re doing fine, but I’m worried about you. I see you’re in your office. You’re not spending your nights at the station, are you? And you’re eating three times a day, right?”
Every time Jasper became too caught up in an investigation, their roles flip-flopped. Not only did his son care—sometimes too much—but he kept Jasper grounded. “The coffee is terrible, but the donuts are fresh.”
His son rolled his eyes. “Not funny, Dad.”
“Just kidding.” Determined not to spoil Dillon’s vacation, Jasper bent the truth. “I eat real food and I sleep in a real bed, so do me a favor and enjoy your tasting adventure and your stay in Brussels. I’m looking forward to hearing all about it. And be careful, you two. Love you.”
~ * ~
As Liliane rolled into her driveway, she was stunned by the presence of a vehicle along the edge of her front lawn. The streetlamp illuminated the silhouette behind the wheel, a silhouette that shouldn’t be waiting for her. She opened the garage and pulled in while he parked in front of the door.
At this rate, her neighbors would start wondering why vehicles occupied her driveway at night.
He exited at the same time she did, and with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he followed her inside the house. His bag landed with the thud in the entryway.
Pulled into his tender embrace, Liliane stroked the dark stubble spiking on his chin. “Weren’t you supposed to sleep in your own bed tonight?” The thought of handing him a house key pleasantly popped into her mind. “When did you get here? How long
have you been waiting for me?”
“Five, ten minutes.” He caressed her back, slowly hiking up her blouse. “I couldn’t stay away from you. Want me to leave?”
“No. I don’t.” In the last week, their relationship had grown by startling leaps and amazing bounds. As scared and elated as she felt, she couldn’t deny she’d fallen in love with him. The timing might not be perfect, but in the past few days she learned life was too short to waste with regrets.
The man holding her heart hostage peppered delicious kisses along her mouth. “You taste like chocolate.”
“I was at Nathalie’s eating ice cream and—” The pressure of his lips on hers shushed her explanation.
Lost in the sensations he awakened with the sparring of their tongues and the wandering of his hands, she forgot all about the murders, the victims, and the election. A gasp of surprise died in her throat when he scooped her in his arms without relinquishing her mouth. Her arms secured around his neck, she relished the warmth of his body through his cotton shirt while he carried her up the stairs. She lowered one hand over his chest, releasing a button with every step he took toward her bedroom. Her fingers tangled in the curly hair between his nipples, she grazed his skin with her nails. He moaned in the kiss, easing his assault on her mouth.
Dazed, she drew in a shaky breath as she gazed at him through eyes half-closed. In the glow of the nightlight plugged in the dark corridor leading to her bedroom, his eyes blazed with passion, fueling her desire.
“I love you,” she murmured nestled in his arms.
His five o’clock shadow tickled her forehead. “Love you too, sweetkin.”
For better or for worse, she’d embarked on a journey with him, a journey she intended to enjoy every second of every minute until the end of time.
Chapter Thirteen
~Bad choices make good stories.~
When Liliane pulled into the parking lot of the Recreation Center a few minutes before 6:00 a.m., she was surprised to see two individuals waiting near Nathalie’s sapphire blue minivan.
Her friend stood by the hood of her minivan while a tall silhouette towered over the roof of the vehicle next to the passenger door.
Her gym bag in her hand, Liliane approached them. The shadows enveloping the stranger’s features faded, replaced by the wary face of a young man who didn’t look any older than her daughter.
“Liliane, this is Tristan, my former student.” Nathalie gestured toward the man wearing a pair of shorts and a muscle shirt. “He agreed to meet in secret and off the record.”
It took a few seconds for Liliane to remember Tristan was the student who landed a job in the finance department of Thomas’ company. In light of his presence, she was glad she didn’t cancel her workout session with Nathalie—as tempted as it had been to stay in bed.
With his eyes darting around the parking lot, the young man nodded at her. He looked ready to sprint away and never come back.
“Nice meeting you, Tristan.” Considering his obvious discomfort, she appreciated his willingness to talk with them. “Rest assured that regardless of what you tell us, Nathalie and I will not mention your name to anyone. We have no intention of causing you any trouble.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to help you, it’s just that I can’t afford to lose my job. Don’t get me wrong, I feel sorry for Mrs. Finch. In her place, I’d be angry and resentful too if my husband was murdered with his pants down. I suppose firing everyone who was friends with him or connected to his election office is her way to cope and grieve, but I need that money to pay my rent and student loan.” His plea sounded familiar, and unknown to him, Tristan provided an explanation for the dismissal of Amanda’s son. “That’s why she can’t know about our conversation. So? What is it you want from me?”
The copy of Thomas’ corporate check was locked in Liliane’s office. She intended to bring it when she met him never anticipating it would occur this early. “A political party received a check from Thomas Finch’s corporate account. This needs to stay between us, but I have reason to believe someone forged his signature. Would you have a list of the people who have access to the blank checks?”
“It depends on the account. We have three different corporate accounts. One to pay the employees, one to pay the suppliers, and a third for miscellaneous expenses.” He glanced back and forth between her and Nathalie. “Do you remember the account number?”
The number danced in front of Liliane’s eyes. “Six-zero-one-one-zero-five-seven.”
“That matches the miscellaneous account, the only account Mr. Finch reconciled himself. If one of its checks ended on our desk by mistake, we immediately handed it over to our supervisor. I was under the impression only Mr. Finch drew checks from that account.” A frown creased his forehead. “I have no clue where those checks are kept or who has access to them.”
The prospect of dealing with a secret account heightened Liliane’s suspicion. “Did one of these miscellaneous checks ever land on your desk by accident?”
“Yes, once, a few months back. It was made out to Spirit Yoga. I can’t remember the exact amount, but it was over fifteen hundred dollars.” An impish smile enlivened his expression. “From what I gathered, it wasn’t the only payment made to that studio this year. At that price, the sessions must be good.”
Spirit Yoga was the name of Jasmin’s studio where, according to Amanda, she also taught naked yoga. Maybe Liliane read too much into these coincidences, but if Jasmin weren’t involved in Thomas’ murder, she’d chosen a peculiar moment to skip town.
The investigation of Jasmin’s disappearance fell under Jasper’s jurisdiction. Liliane’s interest lay in the check, and while she didn’t wish to step on his toes, she couldn’t curb her curiosity.
~ * ~
The sight of her empty driveway dashed Liliane’s hope of sharing a steamy shower with her visitor of the previous night. When she headed off for the Recreation Center, he’d been asleep. Now he was gone.
An invigorating smell welcomed her inside the house. He’d made coffee and the equivalent of two cups remained in the pot.
“Thank you, handsome, wherever you are.”
She savored a cup while checking her emails, then indulged in a long shower before pouring the rest into a travel mug and driving to the election office.
The office wouldn’t open for another five minutes but she was pleased to see Leonard’s truck in the parking lot. So far, the man behaved as instructed, which meant one less thing for her to worry about.
“Morning, Liliane.” As jovial as usual, Gloria greeted her in the lobby carrying a cup and a muffin to her desk. “Mr. Godfrey flew in last night. Can you believe he brought in donuts and muffins? He’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”
“Thanks, Gloria.” Liliane needed to step out of the election office for a few hours. She had intended to delegate the task of babysitting Leonard to Nathalie who hadn’t clocked in yet, but since Damien graced her with his presence, she might as well take advantage of him.
With a cup of coffee in one hand and a donut in the other, Damien gazed at the illustrated quotes taped on the kitchen wall. Humoristic quotes with a dash of sarcasm were Liliane’s favorites.
“Your idea is completely terrible...so what time shall we do it?” He glanced at her as he read the quote out loud. “I love this new quote. Who came up with it?”
To provide some comic relief after dealing with frustrated—and frustrating—electors, the staff began to verbally exchange quotes. Liliane wasn’t sure who decided to print the first one and post it on the wall, but from then on, new quotes were added each day. At this rate, both drab walls of the kitchen would be covered by the end of the by-election.
“Courtesy of Nathalie.” When her friend showed it to her last night, Liliane burst out laughing. It described their complicity to a T. “Listen, since you’re here, would you mind taking over for a few hours? I have an errand to run.”
“Sure.” He waved her out. “Take your time. I’
ll go bother Leonard if I’m bored.”
Since he didn’t ask any questions, she left the office without volunteering any information. Depending on what she learned, she would brief him later—or never.
Thomas’ construction company was located at the farthest end of town. As she drove through town, she tried to recall the occasions during which she had met Thomas’ widow—and drew a blank. Though Liliane had glimpsed the unassuming woman many times, they never exchanged a word. If she were ever quizzed, the odds Liliane would guess her first initial correctly were one in twenty-six.
Mrs. Finch’s first name was a mystery she could have solved this morning by asking Tristan. “Why didn’t I think of that this morning?”
Now it was too late.
Finch Construction was written in bold blue letters on the facade of a gray building adjacent to a fenced yard packed with construction materials. Liliane entered by the front door. An unmanned crescent-shaped desk acted as a physical border between the lobby and a corridor leading into the belly of the building. A red sign on the desktop invited their valued customers to ring the buzzer for services.
Liliane rang then waited. And waited. It then occurred to her the receptionist might not have survived Mrs. Finch’s firing spree.
After not seeing a soul for fifteen minutes—and feeling like anything but a valued customer—Liliane skirted the desk and ventured into the corridor. As she approached the first door, it opened and a man in jeans and a cinnamon shirt stepped out.
He gauged her with unconcealed interest. “May I help you?”
“Yes. I’m here to see Mrs. Finch.” Since she had promised Tristan she wouldn’t implicate him, she shot for the top, and if Thomas’ widow hadn’t shown up for work yet, Liliane would pay her a visit at home.