Red Hot

by Dana Dratch

  “Leslie’s dead,” I said.

  “What?” Dennis looked at me as if he hadn’t heard me. Or the words hadn’t registered.

  “Apparently she fell down the elevator shaft,” Annie said, as Dennis sank slowly onto the sofa. My sister sat down next to him, and I took the overstuffed chair.

  “They found her this morning when they came to fix the elevator,” my sister continued.

  “Gracie left me,” he said simply, cradling his head in his hands.

  For half a minute, none of us said anything. Although the bed pillows pretty much told the story. That and the comfort food.

  When Gabby dumped Nick and went back to her old boyfriend, we went through a lot of Cheetos. And ice cream.

  “Look, I know you’re going through hell right now,” I said. “But you have a chance to set things right. Leslie is gone. You and Geoffrey, the . . . uh, treasurer, can cancel the election. Or even just postpone it for a month or two. Then, the four of us try to find the paperwork and the money Leslie collected on behalf of the board. You and Geoffrey can pay off the bills that are due and hire a new management company. That way, when the new president is elected, everything is back where it should be. And no one is the wiser.”

  “Gracie is,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. “I told her what we did. That’s why she walked out. She was furious. I know some of it’s the hormones. But she’s really angry.”

  “So you make it right,” Annie said. “And we’ll help you. But it has to be your decision. We’re not here to talk you into anything.”

  I didn’t know about my sister, but that was exactly what I was here to do.

  “Did you tell her why you helped Leslie?” I asked.

  “No! I mean, what do you mean?” Dennis said indignantly.

  “Look, I don’t know you from Adam, but my sister does. She says you’re a decent, moral guy. And she knows about things like that.”

  He looked at Annie, who smiled encouragingly.

  “So it’s pretty much a given that you didn’t just jump on board with Leslie’s little ‘let’s rip off the residents of Oceanside’ plan,” I continued. “She obviously had something on you. What was it?”

  He put his hand behind his head and rubbed his neck as he stared at the floor.

  “Pictures,” he said quietly. “She had pictures.”

  “Does Grace know?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “She’s mad enough as it is. If she saw those photos, it would be over. Our marriage would be over. One stupid mistake. I didn’t even go through with it. But if she saw the pictures . . .”

  “How did Leslie get them?”

  “Damned if I know. But I think she had them before she even asked me to step up as secretary for the board.”

  “Leslie plans ahead,” I concluded. “What about Geoffrey? Do you think she has something on him?”

  Dennis looked up. “I never thought of that. He was always so positive about everything we were doing. Enthusiastic. And since he was an accountant, I figured maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Geoffrey kept saying we were being innovative.”

  “Decide what you want to do,” I said quietly. “But if we’re going to take a stab at fixing this mess, we don’t have a lot of time. We need to cancel that election.”

  He got up from the sofa and walked over to one of the bookcases. He removed a book and carefully extracted something from inside. I thought it was a photograph until he handed it to Annie. It was from an ultrasound.

  “We’re having twins,” he said.

  Annie beamed. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!”

  “I want to fix this,” Dennis said, nodding. “For Gracie and our family, I need to fix this. Let’s go talk to Geoff.”

  CHAPTER 30

  This time, Annie and I both stepped back and let Dennis knock on Geoffrey’s door. Eyeball or no, we figured he might be more welcoming of a friendly face. Especially if he’d heard the news about Leslie.

  He opened the door a crack. I could see one blue eye and a sliver of a pale face.

  “What do you want?” Geoffrey asked.

  “We’ve got some news. Good and bad. We need to come in for a minute.”

  Geoffrey appeared to think it over for a split second before he stepped back and opened the door all the way.

  Dennis marched right in, and we followed like a trail of baby ducks.

  “I’m Annie. I live upstairs. This is my sister, Alex.”

  Tall and gangly, Geoffrey bore more than a passing resemblance to a praying mantis. His silver-blond hair was swept straight back from his forehead, revealing a prominent widow’s peak.

  After a few seconds, he gestured at the jaunty red Scandinavian-style sofa and loveseat in his living room, as if hospitality were an afterthought.

  Annie and I settled on the loveseat, while Dennis and Geoffrey occupied opposite ends of the long sofa. I just hoped they weren’t at opposite ends of this issue.

  “The bad news,” Dennis said evenly. “There was an accident downstairs with the elevator. And Leslie is gone.”

  “Gone?” Geoffrey asked.

  “She’s dead,” Dennis said.

  The blue eyes blinked as he brushed a hand over his silvery hair. “What? That can’t be!”

  “It probably happened a few days ago,” Annie said softly. “That’s why the elevator hasn’t been working.”

  “Are you sure?” Geoffrey asked, looking stricken.

  I was afraid he might actually cry.

  “Are they sure it’s her?” he asked, almost pleading.

  Dennis nodded grimly.

  “That’s why we’re here,” Dennis continued. “We need to cancel the election.”

  The accountant side of Geoffrey’s brain seemed to kick in as he considered the idea. I could see the wheels turning behind his almost translucent skin.

  How does he stay that pale living in Miami? What kind of sunblock is he using? And where can I get a gallon of it?

  “Yes, that’s probably a good idea,” Geoffrey said finally.

  “Good,” Dennis said. “I can put a notice on the community’s electronic bulletin board.”

  “I don’t know how tech savvy some of the residents are,” Annie said. “It might be a good idea to put up paper notices in the lobby and at some of the gathering spots—like the pool and the gym. And maybe the hallways, too.”

  Right next to the elevators?

  Dennis nodded. “Can you two handle that?”

  “Sure,” I said. “We should probably let the other candidates know, too. Any idea how to get in touch with them?”

  Dennis shook his head. “Leslie handled all the election stuff. From collecting the candidate applications to distributing the voting ballots. And I don’t remember meeting any of those guys. You?”

  Geoffrey shook his head. “Leslie kept all of the resident information. Names, addresses, contact numbers. She was so organized. She handled all the board paperwork.”

  “Do you have any of the bills or the bank statements?” I asked.

  “She kept all that,” he said softly. “We just signed off on things when it was necessary. Huh, I guess I’m the president now.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “That’s how it works. First, the president. Second, the treasurer. And third, the board secretary. And if one is missing, we all go up a step. So I’m the president now.”

  Annie, Dennis, and I looked at each other.

  “Uh, Geoffrey, what you don’t know is that the board finances are in a bit of a mess at the moment,” I said. “Leslie’s been collecting association dues and fees. But she’s let the bills slide. We have to find that money and get those bills paid.”

  “Do you know where the money is?” Dennis asked.

  “Sure, it’s in the board account. At Primary Federal Bank—down the street. Leslie and I went there together and opened it. As treasurer, I had to sign off on the paperwork.”

  I had a b
ad feeling about this.

  “As an accountant, I’m sure you know all about fiduciary duties,” I said, hoping to appeal to his professional side. “Leslie’s not paying those bills could cause problems for the board, the residents—even the association’s credit rating. I’m sure she didn’t do it on purpose. She had a lot on her plate. But some of those bills are three months behind. So that’s got to be the first order of business.”

  Geoffrey seemed to snap back to reality.

  “I can get copies of our bank statements,” he said. “I don’t need the account numbers if I show my ID. And that should also give us the names of a lot of the vendors.”

  “Then we can call and have them email us the invoices,” Dennis said.

  I didn’t quite trust Geoffrey, accountant or not. He seemed a little too fond of Leslie. And a little too eager to assume her old post. I remembered what Dennis had said about Geoffrey always backing Leslie “two against one.” Could they have been in on it together?

  Annie must have read my mind.

  “OK, gentlemen, it sounds like we have a plan,” my sister said. “How about I call for a car, and we can visit the bank?”

  CHAPTER 31

  Sun-washed South Beach or not, Primary Federal looked like every other suburban branch of every other bank I’d ever visited.

  Situated at the very edge of the neighborhood, it was a squat, white stucco building with blue trim and a stable of drive-through lines on one side.

  Inside, there was a coffee service with stale cookies in the lobby. And a bowl of brightly colored lollypops on the teller counter.

  I’m not exaggerating. The cookies may have looked like chocolate chip. But they tasted like cardboard. I don’t normally eat bank cookies. But since all I had in me this morning was coffee and a glass of orange juice—after walking miles with Lucy and climbing umpteen flights of stairs—I was getting a little desperate.

  “You’ve got crumbs on your chest,” my sister said, as we waited in matching blue cloth chairs in the lobby.

  “That’s because they’re so dry,” I said, coughing.

  “It’s going to take them a minute to get the bank manager,” Annie said. “Try the coffee.”

  “No thanks. If they can do this to chocolate, there’s no telling what they’ve done to a poor, unsuspecting pot of coffee.”

  Sitting across from us, Dennis looked grim. But Geoffrey was calm and unflustered. Like visiting the bank with his three new buds was the most normal thing in the world.

  I was afraid he might be in for another shock. But I hoped I was wrong.

  “Ah, Mr. Gallagher,” a small, round man in a gray suit said as he approached, extending his hand. “I’m Gerald Booker. I’m the branch manager.”

  We’d all agreed in the car that no one would mention Leslie’s demise. As it stood, Geoffrey was entitled to see the account statements. No need to complicate things unnecessarily.

  Geoffrey offered his hand and displayed something that could have passed for a brief smile.

  “I’m Dennis Chu. Geoff and I work together on the board. And this is Annie and Alex, also from Oceanside.”

  “So nice to meet you,” Annie said, flashing her million-watt smile.

  “Lovely to meet you all,” Booker said. “Why don’t we all step into my office?”

  As Geoff presented his ID, Dennis and I dragged a couple of extra chairs into Booker’s tiny workspace. Describing it as an office would be like calling my bungalow Buckingham Palace.

  Branch manager or no, it was a cubicle with walls and a minuscule window set near the ceiling. A half-dead plant withered on one corner of his Formica desk.

  “So, what can I do for you good people today?” Booker asked genially, surveying our little group.

  “I just wanted to get hard copies of the last four account statements,” Geoffrey replied.

  “Of course,” Booker said. “Let me see if I can pull that up.”

  He put on reading glasses and turned to his computer. “Ah, here we are. And . . . let me see. Oh yes, print.”

  My palms started to sweat. What we were doing was pretty much legal. But it felt like I was here to rob the place.

  Booker poked a button, and a small printer in the corner rattled to life.

  After a few minutes, he gathered a stack of papers from the tray, placed them in a manila file folder and handed it across the desk to Geoffrey.

  “Naturally, there’s a small charge for hard copies. Five dollars per statement. We’ll just deduct that from the account.”

  “Of course,” Dennis said smoothly. “We appreciate your time. Thank you.”

  Another round of handshakes and we were out the door. I eyed the cookie plate again as we exited.

  “Don’t even think about it,” my sister warned. “We’ll grab lunch after we swing by the apartment.”

  In the back seat of the SUV, Geoffrey opened the file, scanning the pages. His face crumpled.

  “This can’t be right,” he said, so softly I almost didn’t hear him.

  “What?” Dennis asked.

  “This is the most recent account statement,” Geoffrey said, as two pink splotches bloomed on his pasty face. “The current one. According to this, the association has thirty-four dollars and twelve cents.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Two hours later, Annie and I had papered Oceanside with hot-pink fliers.

  We kept the message simple. In light of recent tragic events, the board election had been postponed. And we included Dennis’s cell number, in case anyone had any questions.

  I was half hoping some of the other candidates would call. No such luck.

  But just about everyone else did.

  “My phone hasn’t stopped ringing,” Dennis complained when we met up at his condo that afternoon. “Mrs. Sako-witz’s garbage disposal is on the fritz. Mr. Jenkins on four wants me to let in the furniture delivery guys. And Quinn Whitmore thinks we should organize a memorial service for Leslie.”

  “What did you say?” I asked.

  “Not my problem, I don’t have a key, and that’s up to her family.”

  “Does Leslie have family?” Annie asked.

  “No idea,” Dennis said. “I didn’t know her that well.”

  I looked at Geoffrey, who was perched on the edge of the sofa as if he might actually take flight.

  He shrugged. “She never said. I think she was kind of alone.”

  “Too bad, so sad,” Dennis said. “Dude, we have to track that money. It’s the only way we’re gonna stay out of jail.”

  “What do you mean?” Geoffrey asked.

  “The board is responsible for that money,” he said. “And it’s gone. We signed off on everything. Everything! Leslie may be dead. But we’re still here. And we’re going to jail.”

  Geoffrey leaned forward and started making a strange whooping sound.

  “He’s hyperventilating,” Annie said. “Do you have a bag?”

  I reached into my purse, pulled out an empty foil potato chip bag—barbecue, of course—and handed it over.

  My sister put it over his nose and mouth. “Just breath slowly. In, two-three-four. And out, two-three-four.”

  He seemed to be getting better. Then he started coughing.

  “Barbecue dust,” he rasped, between coughing fits.

  Annie went to Dennis’s kitchen and came back with a glass of water.

  “Drink this slowly,” she instructed. “Little sips. You’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you,” Geoffrey said gratefully.

  If my sister wasn’t careful, she was going to acquire a new pet. And Lucy was a lot less work. Pooper-scooper or not.

  “My life is over,” Dennis said flatly. “I’m going to jail.”

  “Prison,” I said. “Jail is just a holding cell when you’re first arrested.”

  I’d seen lots of jails. Compared to where he was going, jail was nothing.

  Dennis and Annie both glared at me. Geoffrey busily sipped his water like a baby bird.<
br />
  “Look, the situation hasn’t really changed,” I said. “We knew the money wasn’t going to be in the account when we went over there.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Dennis said.

  “Me either,” Geoffrey squeaked.

  “OK, let me spell it out for you,” I said, wondering, not for the first time, how these guys were pulling down enough to live at Oceanside while I couldn’t even get a car loan. “Leslie took over the running of the board. Then she convinced you two that the management company was overspending. Or possibly taking more than their share. Right?”

  “Right,” they said in unison.

  “So she persuaded you to fire the management company. Now there’s no one looking over her shoulder. She’s super-efficient, and you guys are just signing whatever she puts in front of you. For whatever reason,” I said, looking at Dennis.

  He glanced at the floor.

  “So money’s going in and out of the account, just like you’d expect. Only she’s not using it to pay bills. That means she’s probably stashing it somewhere. Our job, before the bill collectors show up, is to find that money and pay off the debts. It’s the same thing we all agreed to do this morning. It’s just going to take a little more work.”

  “But how did she take the money out of the account?” Geoffrey asked.

  “That’s the key,” I said. “And you’re an accountant. You’re going to help us figure that out.”

  “Because if you don’t, you’re going to be keeping me company in jail. Oh, excuse me,” Dennis said pointedly to me. “Prison.”

  “Why?” Geoffrey whined. “I didn’t take any money.”

  “You said it yourself,” I reminded him. “You and Leslie signed up for that account. Your name is on all the documents. You and Dennis signed off on everything she put in front of you. And, presumably, you looked at the books every month for four months.”

  “But Leslie moved the money,” Geoffrey protested.

  “If we find it, we might be able to prove that,” I said. “Or you two can just pay off the bills, hire a new management company, and go on with your lives. But as it stands now, if someone new comes into office and all you have in that account is thirty-four bucks—minus twenty in bank fees—there’s going to be an investigation. And since Leslie’s gone, who do you think they’re going to charge?”