Isabel sat straight in her chair and grabbed the sides as a weight dropped in her stomach like a sinking stone. “Go on.”
Dr. Varela cleared his throat. “At first, we couldn’t trace the origin of these inconsistencies. Then they stopped during the summer. But with classes back in session in September, the behavior resumed, and we hired Mr. Ackerley to look into it.” He gestured at Simon.
Her hands turned cold on her lap. “Why was I not told any of this?”
Dr. Varela’s neck reddened and Simon rested his elbows on his knees without saying a word. Isabel glanced at Simon and bit back a comment.
“You had just lost your grandmother, Miss Antunes,” said Dr. Varela. “You were gone for a few days and I didn’t want to bother you.”
“It’s my job to be bothered.” She reined in her voice. “Whatever the problem is. You know that.”
Dr. Varela coughed dryly into his fist.
All this time, they’d never mentioned anything to her. Simon had never told her. “How often?” she asked.
“As little as once a week and as often two or three times per week. There isn’t a clear pattern. Sometimes there’s a break in between weeks.”
This couldn’t be happening. She took a breath, guessing—knowing—what was coming next. “But you’ve been able to trace it now.”
Dr. Varela picked up her security card. “Unfortunately, it’s been traced to this card.”
Her shoulders dropped. Dr. Varela was not even going to ask her if she’d done it. “Am I fired?”
Simon finally had a reaction. He straightened and shook his head. “Isabel—”
Dr. Varela held a hand up. “Did you do it, Miss Antunes?”
She stood and the men stood as well. “Does it matter if I say no? If I say I didn’t do it?”
“Of course it matters!” Simon stepped towards her and she retreated.
Dr. Varela came around his desk. “Have you left your card and key unattended at any time?”
She shook her head. “No, I follow protocol. I wear it around my neck when at the academy and I take it home with me at the end of each day. I need it with me to pass security anyways.” She dropped her hands. “You know that.” Everybody at the academy knew that. She always had the card and key on her, didn’t she? “So, what now?” she asked.
“We haven’t called the police—” Dr. Varela started.
“We’re not at that point yet.” Simon turned to Dr. Varela. “We need more time before we contact the police.”
Isabel touched the side of her forehead, where a dull pain threatened to blow into a full-fledged headache.
Dr. Varela returned to his seat. “As I was saying, the police won’t be involved yet, but we’d like you go on Christmas holiday earlier.” He coughed again. “Just don’t leave the city, please.”
She was the main suspect, of course. Her card had been used without her knowledge or consent, but not once had Dr. Varela said they knew someone else had done it. Isabel grabbed the back of the chair. “What about the term grades? And mailing out the reports?”
“The secretaries will take care of that,” Dr. Varela said.
Isabel turned to look at Simon for a moment. He was flushed, his hair mussed, and he wasn’t wearing a necktie. She’d never seen him without one at the academy.
Simon grabbed her elbow. “Isabel, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Isabel pulled her arm away from him. “Will you need my computer password, Mr. Ackerley?” she asked him.
“Yes, please. We’ll add it to the list of passwords,” Dr. Varela said. “I’ll call you later, Miss Antunes. We’ll have some questions for you.”
She nodded curtly. “Of course.” She walked out with her shoulders straight and her chin up.
Simon closed the door, arguing with Dr. Varela in low tones.
When Isabel entered her office, she looked around for a moment. Her shoulders ached and she unclenched her fists. She walked to her desk and turned off the computer, then reached for the tablet in the drawer and set it on the desk.
Simon flung the door open, holding on to the door knob. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” She opened the bottom drawer and retrieved her purse. “I’m going home.” She walked around the desk. “Excuse me.”
“Isabel, wait.” Simon touched her upper arm. “I know you didn’t do this.”
“But you knew they suspected me and you never said anything.”
He shook his head and blew out a breath. “I thought I’d have the proof to exonerate you by now.”
She stepped away from him. She reached in her purse and handed him the keys to the academy. “Please give these back to Dr. Varela.”
Simon followed her to the courtyard. “I’ll come see you after school.”
“Don’t, Mr. Ackerley.”
“Isabel, please—”
“I think I should probably find a lawyer.”
She kept walking. If she stopped now, her legs would buckle.
*
Simon returned to Dr. Varela’s office and entered without knocking. “I asked you to wait to tell her. I only need a few more days to solve this.”
Dr. Varela looked up from his desk and resumed stacking papers. “The academy board wants to be done with this matter by the time classes start in January.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t need that long. Isabel Antunes has not done this.” He ground out the words and clenched his hands. How could they all jump to conclusions so fast? “Just because it’s her card accessing the system doesn’t mean she’s the one doing it.”
“Mr. Ackerley, calm down, please.” Dr. Varela pointed to a chair.
Simon dropped into it and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Are you really calling the police?”
Dr. Varela let out a long breath. “It’s complicated. We’re not a public school, but this is a criminal activity. We just need to tie the card to the user. It will be easier if we present a clean case when the authorities have to be called in.” He crossed his arms. “Are you sure it’s not Miss Antunes?”
Simon sat up. “I am. I just can’t prove it yet. Whoever is behind this knows exactly what he’s doing and Miss Antunes does not have the kind of digital background to pull this off. But I have set up a trap and next time they use her card number to make a transfer, I will have the necessary information to trail it back to its source.” It was only a question of time. “What did you do with Miss Antunes’ card?”
Dr. Varela stood and came around his desk. “I locked it away in the academy’s vault along with her key.”
Simon rose from the chair and walked to the door. “That’s perfect. I’ll be able to figure out how the culprit is doing this the next time the card is used.” And with the card locked away, Isabel would have the alibi to prove she was not involved.
He swung the door open and Dr. Varela stopped him. “Mr. Ackerley, please remember that as far as anyone knows, you’re Miss Antunes’ assistant. You must go on with her duties in her absence.”
At lunch time, Simon dialed Isabel’s number. When she didn’t answer, he sent her a message. I’m coming to see you.
Her reply came within a few minutes. I’m not home.
Not home? Had she left the city?
The phone pinged with another message from her. Don’t worry. I’m still in town. If the police call for me, I’ll turn myself in.
Isabel, that’s not funny. I’ll be able to prove your innocence this week.
He waited for a reply from her, but it didn’t come.
The rest of the school day dragged by, everyone demanding his attention with problems he didn’t want to deal with. It should have been Isabel at the academy, not him. Apparently, Dr. Varela had told the faculty and students that Isabel was taking some time off due to sickness. She wouldn’t like that and neither did Simon. But coming out with the real reason might spook the person behind the money transfers and that would place everything he’d been working towar
d in danger of collapsing.
By the time Simon arrived at his apartment, his mood had not improved. He set up the laptop on the kitchen table and opened the academy’s online portal. The last activity had pushed at the limits of the daily transfers. A few more euros over and it would flag the authorities for sure.
But it was getting close now. He only needed one more transfer and the online tracker would attach itself to the transaction and tell him everything he needed to know. Just a matter of time.
Before going to bed, Simon sent Isabel another text. Are you home?
Her reply came immediately. Please don’t come.
I’m not. Just wanted to tell you I’m thinking about you. It was more than thinking, wasn’t it? I’m praying for you.
Thanks, Simon.
When can I see you?
Pause. I don’t know.
Simon placed the phone on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t have a reply for that. Isabel was alone, accused of something she hadn’t done, and wondering why he hadn’t said anything to her, probably doubting his friendship.
Wait and pray. That was all he could do for now.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Dear Elliot,
I’m devastated. I’ve been wrongly accused of something too serious to even fathom. And a person whom I trusted knew I was being investigated and never said anything to me. It makes me sad.
My hands are trembling too much and I’m too cold.
I don’t know what’s going to happen.
Pray for me,
Amélie
*
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Dear Amélie,
Please, please, please have faith. Everything is going to be all right.
I’m praying for you.
Always,
Elliot
P.S.—You won’t be alone for Christmas
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The sound of the rain hitting the exterior blinds woke her. Isabel slid out of bed and pulled at the cord to bring the blinds up. It was hard rain, running down the glass and onto the marble sill, and out against the side of the building. She put a hand to the pane and the skin on her arms turned into gooseflesh. The neighbor across the street had forgotten to pull in the unmentionables drying on the line from the night before. Too late for that now.
She wrapped herself in a fleece robe and reached for her cell phone. The display read after eight o’clock. After the night she’d had, it wouldn’t have surprised her to have slept the morning away. It had been well after two in the morning by the time she’d succumbed to the physical and emotional exhaustion of Monday’s events.
In the space of half a day, she’d gone through almost all the phases of grief and loss. The loss of her naïveté in assuming everything was well. The grief of finding out someone doubted her integrity. Eight years at the academy dedicating all her time and skills and now her reputation was ruined. Even if she could prove she was not the one embezzling the funds, how would she professionally recover from this? Word would get out, one way or another. People would always doubt her.
She’d taken the long way home in disbelief over the accusation, going through all the scenarios of how someone could have gotten hold of her security card. Once inside her apartment, only the memories of Avó Marta had stopped her from crashing a stack of plates against the tiled floor. The plates didn’t deserve it, and no one else was around to clean the mess. But the anger of knowing someone at the academy had been using her card to misappropriate funds was almost too much to deal with.
The tears came after that, fast and furious at first, then spent and sporadic, leaving her empty and tired and with a boulder-sized headache. Crying never solved anything, but it was inevitable at times.
And then Elliot’s words had come to her, his words about prayer and God’s love and living a life with no regrets. Isabel had dragged herself off the sofa and fallen to her knees. She’d prayed with an earnestness she’d never felt before in her life.
After Simon had texted her, Isabel had settled in bed with the Book of Mormon, the same one Avó Marta had given her before their baptism, all those months back, the one she’d only read a few chapters here and there when the missionaries had taught them. Sometimes she opened it in church. But this time she’d started reading it from the front page, and she read and she prayed and by the time she turned off the light, the answer had come to her.
Isabel dressed and called a taxi to pick her up. She had one hour to get to the other side of Lisbon and she couldn’t be late.
*
Isabel glanced at the clock. She was expecting Cristina to arrive at any moment. After the long day Isabel had, she’d sent a message to Cristina to join her for dinner.
When the doorbell rang, Isabel set the wooden spoon on the plate and ran to open the front door.
Cristina rushed in and threw an arm around Isabel’s shoulders. “Isabel. How are you?”
Isabel hung Cristina’s coat on the hook and placed the wet umbrella in the stand. “I can’t believe you came out to see me in this weather.”
Cristina followed Isabel to the kitchen. “Are you kidding me? The zombie apocalypse wouldn’t keep me away.” She sat on the tall stool by the counter. “Simon Ackerley is walking around like his best friend died and Dr.Varela has left the academy in Simon’s hands. And Simon is not saying anything to anyone so I had to come and see you.”
Isabel stirred the pot. “I’m okay, Cristina. And the academy is in good hands with Simon.” She truly believed it. Amazing how her change of attitude had also shifted her perception of Simon’s role at the academy. “He has been following me for over three months. He knows what to do.”
Cristina crossed her leg and leaned forward. “Are you sick, like Dr. Varela said?”
“No, I’m not.” Isabel turned off the gas burner.
“Then why are you not at the academy?”
Isabel reached for two soup plates from the cupboard. “I’m taking some time off.” She set the plates down across from Cristina. “I entered the cook-off competition.”
Cristina jumped from the stool and screamed. “What?!” She came around the counter and grabbed Isabel’s hands. “You did? You entered the competition? When?”
Isabel smiled. “Today. At the Tivoli Resort. They had open applications and I went.” She filled the soup plates with the caldo verde soup and retrieved two spoons from the drawer. “Watch it. It’s hot.”
They sat at the kitchen table. Cristina hadn’t stopped smiling, her eyes wide and proud. “What did they have you do? Were there many others there?”
“I think the heavy rain put off a lot of people. The organizers said they’d been expecting more applications.” Isabel blew at the soup and stirred it. “I first waited in line for almost one hour. Then I filled in an application and they told everyone there to come an hour after that. I walked back to the hotel’s lobby and sat there. When I came back, they interviewed most applicants present, which meant waiting around a little more.”
“What about the cooking? There was no cooking involved?” Cristina took a spoonful of her soup.
“Not today. After the interview they said to expect a call if I was selected for the cooking audition.”
Cristina touched her forehead. “I don’t know how you can be so calm about this. If I were the one waiting for the phone call, I’d be a wreck. Did they tell you when they’re calling?”
Isabel set the spoon down. “I got the call an hour ago.” She rested her chin on her hand and smiled.
Cristina clasped her hands. “You did? You’re going on the cooking auditions? My gosh, Isabel. You knew from the beginning and you didn’t say?”
Isabel chuckled lightly. “You were the one with all the questions.”
Cristina scraped the spoon against the bottom of the soup plate and fin
ished her last bite. “So how does it all work? Did they say?”
“Tomorrow they’ll put all fifty applicants at different stations and we’ll be cooking in front of three judges. There will be a secret ingredient and I have to come up with something original.”
“Like on the Food Channel,” Cristina said.
Isabel nodded. “Yes, it’s similar. The top twenty applicants who pass will then be chosen for the TV show. And the show works like this—” She paused and ticked her fingers. “On day one, the first round is taped in front of a live audience. The contestants receive a basket of ingredients and they have to make a three-course meal in front of a panel of judges. On day two, the contestants get a day off to plan their menus while the taped show goes on national TV, and people can vote online or through text message for their favorites. On day three, the four contestants with higher votes go face to face on a show broadcast live and are judged by four professionals.”
Cristina blew a breath. “Wow. I can’t even fathom. What are you doing to prepare for all this?”
Isabel shrugged. “Nothing. There’s nothing I can do to prepare. I don’t know what the secret ingredients will be tomorrow. I’ll have to improvise and hope I can remember all the things Avó Marta taught me.”
“You’ll be great, Isabel. I know it.” Cristina stood and placed their plates in the sink. “And look at you, all calm and confident.”
“I—” Isabel paused and twisted her hands, unable to hide her hesitation. “I prayed, Cristina. I know you might not understand this, but I prayed and I’ve been very calm since then. Like God is guiding me through this and I don’t need to worry about it.” She’d do the best she could and leave the rest in God’s hands. Even the matter at the academy and her security card was no longer weighing her down as before.
Isabel stood and walked to the sink. “Okay, there’s more to it. If I pass the cooking audition, I’ll come home to pack a light suitcase and I’ll let you know. When I return to the resort, they’ll put me in a hotel room and I can’t contact anyone, or have a phone, watch TV, be on the internet or anything. I’ll have to sign a confidentiality agreement.”
One Small Chance: a novella (a Love Story from Portugal) Page 11