by Janice Kay Johnson - Cop by Her Side (The Mysteries of Angel Butte)
No—not true. Drew Wilson had another daughter.
“Alexis asleep?” he asked.
“Yes. Pray she stays that way.”
Jane had changed clothes since he’d seen her that morning, making him wonder if this was what she slept in. The pants were a loose, thin cotton knit, nothing meant to be sexy but nicely outlining the firm globes of her ass as she walked away from him. Clay stumbled over the thought. Would it offend her? Was ass derogatory? Hell. Did he want to get involved with a woman who had him tangled up over a choice of words? It wasn’t as if he could help noticing her ass. Butt. Whatever. All he knew was that his hands tingled with the desire to get a good handful.
When she faced him, the baggy T-shirt she wore had clung to her more-than-generous breasts, as well. He wanted a handful of those, too. And a mouthful.
And this was not what he should be thinking about, considering he might finally be getting a break in this investigation. All he’d had to do was see Jane’s face to know Drew wasn’t about to show him monthly statements proving that his wife had scrimped so skillfully, she’d somehow managed to pay the bills with their vastly reduced income.
Drew sat at the table in the kitchen, shoulders slumped and head hanging. His hair poked out every which direction, as if he hadn’t combed it in recent memory. His chin was at least two days from a shave, too. At the sound of their footsteps, he lifted his head slowly, the effort seeming huge.
“Thank you for calling me,” Clay said.
Jane pulled up a chair and he did the same. A small pile of printed pages sat beside Drew’s hand. Clay recognized the familiar format of a bank statement on the top page.
“I guess I didn’t want to know,” Drew said heavily. He pushed the papers across the table. “If I said anything, suggested I take a shit job as a fill-in, Lissa kept telling me not to worry, that she was handling it.”
It. A hell of a vague word, Clay couldn’t help thinking. “What was she handling?” he asked.
Bleary, bewildered brown eyes met his. “Bringing in plenty of money.”
“How?”
He shook his head slowly and kept shaking it, as if he couldn’t stop. “I don’t know.”
Jane moved. Only a little, but Clay looked at her.
Drew seemed sunk in apathy. After a quick glance at him, Jane said, “You know how these days, with online banking, you can open photocopies of the checks you deposited or wrote?” She waited for Clay’s nod.
He did know, but from investigative work. Personally, he paid his bills the old-fashioned way and kept a checkbook the old-fashioned way, too. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of having his financial information out there for anyone to hack into. Jane, he thought, would probably consider him a dinosaur.
“The extra money all came from personal checks.” She didn’t like this any better than her brother-in-law did, but her eyes met Clay’s. He hated seeing the hint of shame in them, as though she was responsible for her sister’s failings because she’d raised her. “All written by James Stillwell.”
Well, well. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. “I don’t suppose they could have been forged,” he said thoughtfully.
“I don’t see how.” Jane was trying to hide how she felt about this, but emotions leaked through nonetheless. He knew she hadn’t wanted to betray her sister—but she was the one who felt betrayed now, by the little sister she’d mothered. “Over the past three months, there have been five sizable checks. Not consecutive numbers. There’s something wrong if he hasn’t missed the checks or the money. Finding out where the money went wouldn’t have been hard either, given that Stillwell uses the same bank Drew and Lissa do.”
Clay bent his head and studied the statements she’d printed off, slowly flipping through, concentrating on deposits. Damn, that was one hell of a supplemental income. Melissa Wilson had had good reason to insist she was “handling it.”
“Funny Mr. Stillwell never mentioned how generous he was being to his bookkeeper.” He regretted the words the minute he said them, even before he saw the way Drew squeezed his eyes shut. Clay had a bad feeling Drew thought his wife was earning the extra bucks on her back. And he supposed it was possible. Lissa was a looker, no question, and Stillwell a sleaze enough to think it was fine and dandy to pay for sex, taking advantage of a young mother’s desperation.
But Clay didn’t believe it. The picture he was getting of Melissa Wilson didn’t fit the description of a desperate young mother, for starters. He was beginning to wonder if she wasn’t essentially amoral. Jane didn’t want to think that, and he understood why. The husband didn’t want to believe it, either, but he knew enough to be getting the idea that he wished he was married to the other sister.
Clay’s mouth tightened. Sorry, buddy. Not happening.
“Mr. Wilson,” he said, rising to his feet, “I appreciate you coming forward with this information. I realize this must feel like an invasion of your privacy. It has to have been difficult for you, on top of everything else you’re going through.”
Drew stared at him so blindly, Clay wondered what—or who—he was really seeing. After a too-long moment, he nodded.
“I assume I can take these statements with me? I can assure you any information that doesn’t pertain to the investigation will be kept confidential.”
After another distinct pause, Drew nodded.
Clay bent his head politely. “Good night, then.”
Jane got up, her worried gaze on her brother-in-law. “I’ll see you out.”
Neither of them said anything until she had released the dead bolt and opened the door.
As he stepped out, she said, “You’ll talk to Stillwell tomorrow?”
“First thing.” Seeing her expression, he said, “And yes, I’ll let you know what I learn. Although I’m betting he lies through his teeth.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“I don’t, either.” Unable to resist temptation, he slid his hand under the heavy fall of her hair to gently squeeze her nape. “I may be barking up the wrong tree.”
She nodded, then shook her head in contradiction. “At least we know your instincts were right.”
“I’d say I wished they hadn’t been, except—”
Her distress took a chunk out of his heart muscle. “For Bree,” she said, so softly he saw her lips shape the words more than heard them.
“Yeah. Damn. Come here.”
She came.
Believing it to be what she needed, all he did was hold her. He laid his cheek against the top of her head, savoring the springy feel of her curls, the pillow of her breasts against him, but most of all the trust it took for her to lean on him like this. Trust he knew he hadn’t yet earned.
Finally she rubbed her cheek on his shirt, making him wonder if she was drying tears on him, then straightened, her eyes shadowed and her smile wry.
“I wonder if Drew will ever forgive me.”
Clay stiffened. The whole time she’d been resting in his arms, had she been thinking about her brother-in-law? “If we find his daughter, does it matter?”
Jane hesitated long enough to bother him. “No,” she said softly, at last. “Of course not.”
Pity twisted inside him, replacing the sting he’d felt. “I’m sorry, Jane. This sucks.”
“It does,” she said on a sigh. She tried another smile, not much better. “Good night, Clay.”
“Yeah.” He bent his head and kissed her cheek, cushiony, soft and fragrant. “Get some sleep.” He had to turn and go. This wasn’t the moment for anything more.
She was still standing there in the open doorway when he got in his Jeep, and even when he backed out into the street, but the house was dark the last time he looked back.
* * *
“WHY WOULD YOU be interested in my financial relationship
to one of my employees?” Stillwell asked in what appeared to be genuine surprise. That, or he was a hell of an actor, which was Clay’s guess. “If any crime was committed, Mrs. Wilson was the victim.”
He hadn’t looked real happy to see Clay waiting outside his building when he arrived at eight-thirty. Clay had given some serious thought to going straight to his house last night, or knocking on the door at 7:00 a.m. or so, but had held on to his patience by a thread. He knew damn well that if he went to a judge right now asking for a warrant, he’d be met with bewilderment. Sure, something irregular was going on—but was it a crime? Did it have anything to do with the crime that had been committed? He couldn’t prove a thing yet, and in all honesty didn’t know.
“When I’m investigating, I look for any anomaly,” he explained. “The financial situation of the Wilsons raised a red flag for me right away.”
Stillwell leaned back in his desk chair, appearing comfortable and only mildly concerned. Avuncular, Clay thought. The guy had it down to an art form.
“Of course,” Clay continued, testing the waters, “we’re hoping that Mrs. Wilson will soon be able to tell us herself what happened. Had you heard she’s showing distinct signs of improvement?”
The blue eyes remained guileless. “Yes, I stopped by again yesterday. Spoke to Drew, in fact. He sounded quite encouraged.”
“So is Lieutenant Vahalik, Mrs. Wilson’s sister.”
“Melissa has mentioned that her sister is a policewoman.” This time there was something different in his eyes—some secret amusement? “For sisters, they don’t seem to have much in common.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Clay murmured, hiding his deep antipathy. “They both love those two girls. The lieutenant is dreading having to tell her sister that Brianna is missing.”
There was a flicker of something, but it came and went too fast to be read with any accuracy. “Indeed,” Stillwell said, shaking his head. “That will be distressing.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you have reason to believe you might be able to find young Brianna before her mother regains consciousness?”
“That’s my hope. Perhaps you can help me now by explaining these extra payments to Mrs. Wilson.”
He looked surprised. “It’s certainly no secret. She’s a valued employee. When I learned her husband was having difficulty finding a new job and they might lose their home, I offered a personal loan. My hope is that, by carrying them for now, it will give Mr. Wilson time to wait for the right job locally.”
“You care that much about a bookkeeper.”
Stillwell shook his head. “Sergeant Renner, I can tell you’re not a businessman. What’s made Stillwell Trucking a success is the employees. I have very little turnover. When someone good comes to work for me, I try to keep him—or, in this case, her. In my experience, retaining the best employees is critical. I can readily afford the help I’ve given the Wilsons. He’s an engineer. Once he’s working again, he’ll make good money. We can work out a payment schedule.”
“And if he takes a job out of the area?”
“Then I’ll still expect to be repaid,” Stillwell said, some steel in his voice. “At some point, if his unemployment continues, I’ll set a deadline. For now, I think of it as making an investment in the future.”
Clay still didn’t like the guy, but, damn it, his explanation sounded almost reasonable. Generous as all get-out, of course, but there might actually be something to his theory that the company’s success depended on retaining solid employees. And yeah, he probably could afford the amount he’d given Lissa without missing it.
Clay asked a few more questions, and found that Stillwell had asked Melissa to keep the loan private for obvious reasons; he wouldn’t be willing to do the same for every employee, and didn’t want to create hard feelings. He at least pretended to be dismayed to learn that she hadn’t told her husband where the money was coming from.
He looked straight at Clay when he said, “Please tell Mr. Wilson the loan is personal, but my relationship with his wife is not.”
“I’ll do that,” Clay agreed. “Thank you for your candor.”
“You’re very welcome.” He stood and held out his hand, which Clay felt compelled to shake. “If there was anything at all I could do to bring Brianna Wilson home, you may be sure I’d do it.”
Clay didn’t have a lot of choice but to leave. Walking out to his Cherokee, he turned his head to watch a semi carefully maneuvering to back up to one of the loading docks. A man on the ground was using hand signals to guide the driver. A couple of others waited inside the bay to load or unload. Other trucks were already in place. Most, he supposed, picked up their loads elsewhere.
It was an interesting business, he reflected. Keeping track of what truck was where at every moment must present a challenge. Stillwell probably wished he had a radar screen like on a naval destroyer, so that he could watch the moving blips.
The attempt to distract himself only worked so long.
Sitting behind the wheel, Clay didn’t start the engine immediately. Frustration weighed on him. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Jane she’d violated her principles for information that had provided no help at all.
He wasn’t 100 percent sure he believed James Stillwell was really that far thinking or altruistic. He’d told Jane he expected to be fed a lie, and he couldn’t be sure that wasn’t what had happened. But he was left with no reason to pursue this line of inquiry, no excuse for a warrant. Nothing but a niggle that insisted Melissa Wilson must have had a reason not to tell her husband about the loan so kindly extended by her employer. Think of how awkward it would be to spring it on him later—Dear, did I mention how much money I borrowed while telling you I was “handling” everything?
But if she’d embezzled from the company, why wouldn’t Stillwell have called the cops, or, at the very least, fired her ass? No businessman liked looking stupid. Too often, they didn’t prosecute. But if that was the case, why would he lie now? Why was he stopping so devotedly by the hospital to check on his bookkeeper’s recovery? More employee relations? Hard to believe.
Away from James Stillwell’s ultrasincere persona, Clay’s dissatisfaction was growing. Too bad he was utterly devoid of ideas for what to do next.
Crap, he thought. What was he supposed to do? Hope some tip panned out? Hope Melissa Wilson opened her eyes and cried, “I saw John Doe grab my daughter!”
If there was one thing Clay hated, it was waiting. Taking a passive role.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he swore aloud, viciously and at length.
* * *
FEELING DAZED, JANE set her phone down on the dresser. A loan? Lissa had done nothing worse than borrow money from her boss without telling Drew?
And, oh, God, think what I did to find that out.
She wanted to be mad at Clay. She really wanted to be mad at him, but couldn’t. He’d been right—of course he had—to find out where the money had come from. The unexplained income was the one oddity in Lissa’s recent life, a logical possible explanation for her equally odd behavior Saturday leading up to the accident.
Talking to Clay, Jane had wanted to know why Stillwell hadn’t told Clay about the loan the first time they talked.
“He claims it didn’t occur to him. At the time, he had no reason to think her accident was anything but an accident.” The reluctance in his voice came through. “It makes sense.”
“Why would he loan her so much money?” she asked.
Clay relayed an explanation about retaining quality employees, etc. etc. “And I kind of got the feeling the money is a drop in the bucket for him,” he added.
“I told you I saw his house,” Jane admitted. “He’s got to be loaded.”
“You going to the hospital today?”
“Yes.”
She waited for him to tel
l her he’d stop by, or ask if they could have lunch together, but he only, rather curtly, said he’d be in touch and ended the call. When she thought about it, she realized how distant he’d sounded from the beginning.
He wouldn’t have lied, would he? Found something out he didn’t want to tell her? Did he assume she’d share anything he said with Drew?
Or... Suddenly she felt sick. Today, he didn’t need anything from her. Had lunch and coffee and the phone calls and, dear God, the kiss been a little more manipulation on his part? If so—she’d totally fallen for the whole “you can trust me” shtick.
Shuddering, she told herself she was jumping to conclusions. Clay might just have had something on his mind. Known he wouldn’t have time to see her today. She’d think a lot less of him if he didn’t focus on finding Bree.
But the queasiness lingered, especially when it occurred to her she was going to have to tell Drew what Clay had learned. Oh, Lissa, why didn’t you tell him what you were doing? But Jane could guess. Her sister really had enjoyed being the competent one, being in charge. She’d probably reveled in being able to make decisions without any input at all from Drew. Had she actually been happy that he had been humbled by being jobless?
Jane was a little staggered to discover how readily she could attribute awful motives to her sister. How much...she didn’t like her?
But I do love her. Don’t I?
Right this minute, she wasn’t entirely sure.
* * *
A COUPLE OF hours later, despite everything, Jane felt a thrill when she squeezed Lissa’s hand and Lissa squeezed back.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Lissa? Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand again if you can.”
Nothing happened. Still, she had a huge lump in her throat. Part of her that she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge had begun to believe Lissa was gone, that she wouldn’t be back in any way her family would recognize. But this was so...tangible.
Tears burned in her eyes. She was crowded with memories—walking her little sister to class, holding her hand in the packed hallway. Lissa getting into bed with her the night after their parents’ last, explosive fight, after Mom shouted, “I’m gone!” and went, not even stopping to say goodbye to either girl. Lissa’s hand had slipped into Jane’s that night, too, and she’d whispered, “I’m scared.” Jane was scared, too, scared spitless. Literally. She remembered having to work up enough saliva to allow herself to whisper reassurance to the skinny little girl who didn’t have anyone but her now.