Final Deposit

by Lisa Harris

  Except for the fish tank and a pile of glass beneath the broken windowpane in the back door, the house was spotless.

  Kyle took in the details of the room. While everything was neatly kept, nothing looked new. Half a dozen framed photos on a file cabinet, a few healthy plants and a worn leather lounge chair and matching couch from another era, flanked by heavy wooden side tables. Even the television looked at least twenty years old.

  He cleared his throat. “What did the police do while they were here?”

  “Besides ask a lot of questions?” Lindsey pointed to the door. “I showed them where the guy tried to get in, and they dusted for prints. But I’m guessing the prints are my father’s or mine—the burglar probably used gloves. And he never set foot inside the house, so they don’t have much to go on.”

  He studied the solid-wood door with its nine, etched-glass windowpanes on the top half. The pane closest to the door handle was shattered. The fact that the door had been locked with a key had probably been a deterrent. If Lindsey hadn’t been here to scare him off, though, he would have found a way in eventually. But why? What had he wanted?

  “Kyle?”

  He turned to look at her. “What is it?”

  She had a hammer in one hand and a half-dozen nails in the other, and she was staring at his feet. “I thought the chocolate-covered tux shirt was a unique fashion statement, but this…”

  He followed her gaze. One brown shoe and one black shoe stared back at him.

  “It’s my fault once again, I suppose.” She let out a chuckle and handed him the hammer. “Have I thanked you for rushing to my rescue once again?”

  He quirked his left brow. Was she flirting? If she was, he liked it. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then I should.” She glanced up at him beneath long, dark lashes. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  Nothing like a beautiful woman to turn his world upside down in the course of an evening. “You know you’re welcome.”

  “I’ll be right back. I think there’s a piece of plywood in the laundry room that we can use.”

  He watched her disappear around the corner. Washington, D.C., suddenly seemed a lifetime away.

  He glanced around the living room again and his grip on the hammer tightened. Something wasn’t right here. If George Taylor had been buying enough stuff to not only lose his entire life savings but unleash a pack of bill collectors, there was no evidence of the man’s material indulgences. Everything in the house Kyle had seen so far was cared for but far from new. There were no fancy stereo systems, laptops or flat-screen TVs in sight. If anything, Mr. Taylor’s surroundings corroborated Lindsey’s descriptions of a thrifty and frugal man.

  And there were holes in Lindsey’s identity-theft theory. Mr. Taylor was an educated man. If he believed someone had stolen his identity, why wouldn’t he have gone immediately to the authorities? It didn’t make sense. Add to that the missing porcelain pieces and tonight’s breakin—

  “Kyle?” Lindsey’s fingertips brushed against his sleeve.

  She held out the board to him, smiling.

  “Sorry.” He hadn’t heard her come back into the room. He looked down at her, wishing they were standing here under different circumstances. This wasn’t the way he wanted to get to know her again. “I was just trying to see if I could make sense of any of this. The collection notices, the missing curios and now the attempted burglary…”

  Her smile disappeared. “Any theories?”

  “At this point only conjectures. I’ll need your father’s permission to look through his financial statements and computer files.”

  “Kyle.”

  He swapped her the hammer and nails for the board and then set it against the door frame to cover the hole. “And I’m following you home when we’re done here.”

  “I know I asked for your help, but you don’t have to do any of this. Just because we were friends years ago—”

  “I might not have to, but I want to.” He pounded in the first nail. His gut told him this was something that went beyond an ugly case of identity theft. A vision of his brother lying in a casket flashed before him. There was no way he was going to let her handle this alone. “I want you to call me tomorrow once you talk to your father. With his help we can get to the bottom of this.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes, I do.” He turned to her and this time couldn’t resist the urge to brush back the loose curl that rested on her cheek. “You know, you’ve hardly changed at all. I remember a beautiful young woman who cared so much for her parents that she left school to help them during a difficult time. Today, I see a woman who’d do anything for her best friend, including wear a pink ruffled dress she probably hates, with three-inch, back-breaking heels. And—” a blush spread across her face as he talked “—who’d risk her own life to save her father’s beloved African cyclops.”

  Lindsey brought her hand to her mouth and laughed. “They’re African cichlids, and you’ve now completely embarrassed me.”

  “Cichlids. Okay.” He matched her grin. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re quite a woman, Lindsey Taylor. You always have been.”

  FIVE

  Lindsey shifted in the metal hospital chair, wishing she could find a more comfortable position. She stared over the stark white bedsheets at her father’s determined gaze and tried to stay calm. She’d always hated hospitals, but today the pale green walls of the room seemed to close in on her. She shut her eyes for a moment, wishing she could block out the constant beeping of the heart monitor and the endless influx of nurses that reminded her of her mother’s last days. Except now it was her father in the hospital.

  She wondered if the nurses could give him something for his obstinacy.

  “Please, Dad. I know this isn’t easy for you, but you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. I just want to help.”

  Her father jabbed with his fork at a piece of pear on his breakfast tray and shook his head calmly. “I’ve already told you that there’s nothing to tell.”

  Her stomach clenched, and she held back the angry words on the tip of her tongue.

  “Dad—”

  “Lindsey, please.” He held his plastic fork up as if to emphasize what he was about to say. “I told you there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Nothing to worry about? Right. She gripped the arms of the chair. After Kyle ensured she’d gotten home safely last night, she’d made a cup of tea and tried to get back into the book she was reading, but even the absorbing storyline couldn’t pull her away from reality. Next, she’d turned to the Bible—where she probably should have gone first—but even that had done little to ease her concern. She was worried. There was no getting around it.

  She took a sip of orange juice from a plastic cup, in no mood to accept his insistent rebuttals. If he wouldn’t agree to help her get to the bottom of the situation, she’d call Kyle and search through every last piece of paper in her father’s house until she found out the truth.

  “Dad…” She sighed heavily, determined to try one last time. “You can’t tell me that a stack of letters from collection agencies, and the fact that all of Mom’s porcelain pieces are missing, is nothing. So what is it? Has someone stolen your identity? Or maybe…I don’t know…have you been gambling online?”

  “Gambling?” He stabbed at another piece of fruit, clearly fed up with her questions. “What are you talking about, Lindsey?”

  “What am I talking about?” She rubbed her temples with her fingertips. They were going in circles. “I’m talking about the fact that there are attorneys bringing lawsuits against you for starters.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone through my desk.” The lines on her father’s forehead deepened. “It’s none of your business, and I’m finished discussing it.”

  “You’d have done the same if the situation was reversed and you know it. All I want to do is help.”

  “How’s Sammy?”

  She opened
her mouth to respond and then shut it in frustration. How was Sammy? So that was it. Subject closed. All evidence denied. He was more worried about his precious cat than his imploding financial situation. Why wouldn’t he let her help him?

  “Sammy’s fine.” She took another sip of her juice. She’d go along with the change of subject. For now. “When are they planning to let you go home?”

  “Sometime this afternoon.” He smoothed out the edges of his white mustache with his fingers. “Why don’t you go home and sleep. You look exhausted.”

  “That’s because I was up half the night worried about you.”

  “I know, pumpkin, and I really do appreciate it.” He reached out and grasped her hand, smiling for the first time all morning. “I need you to trust me on this. Sometimes things aren’t what they seem, but everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”

  She squeezed her father’s hand, wanting to believe him, wanting to believe this was nothing more than a big misunderstanding that would simply disappear. Her gut told her that wasn’t true, but arguing with her stubborn father was only making things worse.

  He nudged her arm. “Go home, Lindsey. Get some sleep. I’ll call you when they release me.”

  She was tired, but there was no time for a nap. The carpet cleaners would be at his house in an hour, and she still had to do something about the fish tank and the glass pane in the back door. Not wanting to upset him further, she’d decided to hold off telling him about the breakin. Plus, if he thought her life was in danger for any reason, he’d make her promise not to go back to the house. And that was a promise she wasn’t willing to make.

  She tossed the empty juice cup into the trash can. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  He nodded. “Positive.”

  She leaned over the bed to kiss him on the forehead. “I worry about you. I can’t help it.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He cupped her face between his hands. “You look so much like your mother. She’d be so proud of you. You know that, don’t you?”

  Lindsey nodded. She missed her mom so much. And if she were here, she’d know what do to.

  “I love you, pumpkin.”

  She blinked back a tear. “I love you, too, Daddy.”

  Two minutes later she was downstairs in the lobby, punching Kyle’s number into her phone.

  He answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Kyle, it’s me. Lindsey,” she said, crossing the lobby.

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to call.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.” She stopped just before the automated doors that led outside, hoping her last statement didn’t make it sound as if she didn’t want to see him. Because she did. Very much.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that my father refuses to discuss the issue and denies there is anything wrong.”

  He let out a low whistle. “I’m assuming that means he didn’t give you permission to search his house?”

  “He didn’t, but that doesn’t matter.” Lindsey bit her lip, already feeling guilty about what she’d decided to do. “I have unlimited power of attorney. He signed all the papers after he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, in case something happened.” A young girl stepped through the doors, bringing with her a blast of Texas summer. Lindsey took a step back into the lobby. “You have to know that I’d never take advantage of his trust. But I think it’s appropriate for me to use my power of attorney in these circumstances.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. One day her father would thank her. They just had to figure out what was going on first.

  “Can you meet me back at my father’s house?” she asked. “I’ll pick up lunch to sweeten the deal.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour. Is that soon enough?”

  “Yeah.” She hadn’t expected the wave of relief that followed. At least she wasn’t in this alone. “I owe you big-time for this.”

  Thank you, Lord, for Kyle Walker.

  She hung up and walked over to the ATM on the other side of the automatic doors to withdraw money for lunch. Rummaging through her purse, she remembered she’d left all her usual cards in her dresser drawer yesterday so she wouldn’t have to worry about them at the wedding. She sighed, and pulled a debit card for her emergencies-only account from a zippered pocket.

  Sliding the card into the slot, she wondered what she and Kyle might find. She noticed her hand was shaking and rested it against the side of the machine, waiting for the bank to process her request. The ATM spit the card back at her.

  Card denied. Insufficient funds.

  Insufficient funds? Lindsey smacked the machine with the palm of her hand and shoved in the card again. She didn’t have time for this.

  Thirty seconds later…denied again.

  She glanced around the lobby. A dozen people milled about the room and not one of them seemed to notice that she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Or that the room was beginning to spin.

  This simply couldn’t be happening. There should be at least two thousand dollars in her account.

  Or rather, their account. She shared it with her father.

  Kyle jumped off Mr. Taylor’s front porch as Lindsey parked the car. The moment she stepped out, he knew she’d been crying.

  He hurried toward her. “What happened? Your father, is he—”

  “He’s fine. As far as the hospital is concerned, anyway.”

  “What’s wrong then?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what’s going on.”

  She dug into her purse and yanked out the keys to the front door, forcing him to keep up with her as she marched up the walk. Her chin jutted forward, lips pressed into a thin line. It seemed that frustration had morphed into pure anger.

  “Lindsey? What’s going on?”

  “My father and I have a joint savings account. He set it up a couple years ago. Emergency money, he called it. If either of us got in a bind, we could borrow from it.” She stomped up the porch stairs and stopped briefly to face him. “I’ve used it from time to time, always repaying it quickly. I don’t think my father’s ever used it, because the balance has never dropped below two thousand dollars.”

  She shoved the house key into the lock, opened the door and deactivated the alarm. “I needed cash for lunch, so I tried to use the card. It was denied because of ‘insufficient funds.’ And he claims there’s nothing wrong.”

  Her purse smacked against the wall as she tromped over the still-wet carpet. She slung it down on the floor, away from the mess. A Siamese cat rubbed up against her leg, but she ignored its obvious ploy for attention. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my entire life.”

  “Hey,” Kyle said, setting his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve got to calm down. We’ll find a way to work this all out.”

  “I need to check the account.” She pulled away from him. “I’ve got to know what happened.”

  He watched as she turned on her father’s computer and waited for the banking page to load, wishing he could do something—anything—to make things okay.

  A couple minutes later, she put her head in her hands. “It’s true. There’s nothing there.” She grabbed the cordless phone and started pacing the room. “I’m calling the bank.”

  “What can I do?”

  She glanced up at him. “Should we start with his e-mails? He spends a lot of time online. Maybe there’s something there.”

  Kyle nodded. “And where are his banking records?”

  She pointed to the file drawers. “You shouldn’t have any trouble. He’s a stickler when it comes to organizing his files.”

  “Consider that a blessing in the midst of all of this.” He slid onto the seat she’d vacated in front of the computer. “We might be able to find something quickly.”

  While she called the bank, he clicked on Mr. Taylor’s e-mail. No password. This was going to be even easier than he thought. He tried to focus on the task in front
of him instead of worrying about the woman pacing beside him. She was strong, she’d get through this.

  The in-box was empty except for some spam about DVDs and summer airline sales. He searched the mail folders, scanning for anything suspicious. Video closeout sales, travel deals, business news…the man didn’t even erase his junk mail. He found a few legitimate-looking messages from friends, but perusing those could be a last resort.

  The next e-mail was from an Abraham Omah. Kyle stopped. The solicitation e-mail that followed was all too familiar.

  A knot began to form in the pit of his stomach. He stared at the screen, forcing himself to concentrate. In the search box, he typed out “Abraham Omah.” Ten seconds later, the computer gave him a list of seventy-six separate e-mail transactions.

  He’d found what he was looking for.

  “The account is empty, Kyle.”

  He snapped his head up. “Who made the last withdrawal?”

  Lindsey set the phone back in its holder. “The manager’s going to call me back with the details. Apparently it was an online purchase.”

  Looking back at the screen, he scrolled down to the first e-mail, from last fall. He hoped his theory wasn’t true but the pieces were all beginning to fit. “Who’s Abraham Omah?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “There are dozens of messages here from him.” He turned around to face her. “This isn’t identity theft, Lindsey.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I want you to read something. It’s the first e-mail from Omah, dated eight months ago.” He printed the document and handed it to her. “It’s a scam letter,” he said. “And I believe your father fell for it.”

  Color drained from her face as she read the letter out loud.

  “It is my pleasure writing you. I am Abraham Omah, and I am soliciting for your humble and confidential assistance to take custody of Thirty-one million Dollars (US $31,000,000.00). These funds have been deposited into a confidential security firm in West Africa, and with your help, will be released to you by the said security firm. You will receive twenty percent if you can help us claim this consignment. PLEASE, I need your support for the success of this business venture as well as your utmost confidentiality. PLEASE acknowledge as soon as possible.”