by Val Tobin
She sipped her wine as she paced the room. Why did she play this game? Katrina, that’s why. He’s dating Katrina.
“You have a date?” He paused a breath and added, “That’s great.” It sounded more like enthusiasm than sarcasm, which poked her ego.
“Well? To what do I owe the pleasure of this call? Don’t tell me you’re at home by yourself.” Now, it was her turn to sound enthusiastic.
He chuckled. “Yes, but don’t let it get around.” His voice grew serious. “I’m actually working. From my office at home.”
“Working on what? And what do you want from me?”
“I hate to intrude on your weekend, but I wanted to run something past you.”
“Okay, I’ll help if I can.”
“How do you funnel money into an account and make it untraceable?”
His question jolted her to a halt, and she dropped to a seat on the couch. The moment the snoozing Mister Cuddles sensed her presence, he rose, stretched, and rubbed up against her. Absently, she stroked the cat’s soft fur until he jumped down and traipsed toward the kitchen and his food dish.
When the shock of what he’d asked passed, she broke the silence. “Gabe, what did you find?” But she already knew the answer to that, because if it were nothing, he wouldn’t have called her.
“Automatic transfers were set up for some accounts. I’m certain this transfers to an account maybe out of the country,” Gabriel said.
“I thought you were going to let me look into this?” Ellen replied, annoyed he’d been doing her job.
“Yeah, but it’s my company. I couldn’t let it sit all weekend.”
“It could take us weeks to ferret out every suspicious transaction from the entire two years or more. If it was Fran doing the transfers, the activity would’ve ceased on that account anyway.”
“I know. Except someone transferred last night. If Fran set up the account, she wasn’t the only one to have access to it. She might be innocent, or she might have an accomplice. The accomplice would make a likely suspect in her murder, Ellen.”
Chapter Eleven
Ellen pulled the phone away from her ear and put the call on speaker. She told Gabriel she’d done that and let him know no one else was in the room.
“She could’ve created a Swiss bank account or something in the Caymans or elsewhere. One good thing about this is that to transfer the money you have to specify the account you’re transferring it to.” She contemplated how to avoid that. “Unless she transfers it more than once. So, once to the first account, which could be a shell corporation, then to another account we can’t have access to, and then to the offshore account.”
“I haven’t found out where the money transfers to, but it would make sense for it to be a multi-step process, especially if she had an accomplice.”
“Gabe, you’re assuming it’s Fran who stole the money.”
“Ellen—”
“It likely was Fran,” she cut in. “But you can’t accuse her without evidence. What if she uncovered the thefts, so the real thief killed her?”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
Reluctantly, she added, “It probably was Fran. No one else had that kind of access to those accounts. She had complete control and autonomy. You need to trust the person you hire when you offload that function. Business owners don’t want to delve into the books. They want to run their businesses, so they hire controllers. It’s a convenience and a risk. I’m sorry, Gabe.”
“What for?”
“For everything that happened. What a domino effect from one night of sex!”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
She almost told him right then that she’d left BRI because he’d dumped her. It was right there, ready to spill out, when she thought better of it. “I don’t mean anything. Rather, our lives would be different, at any rate, if we either hadn’t slept together then or we’d played things differently.” She hoped that was answer enough to satisfy him.
It wasn’t.
“Are you blaming us for what happened to Fran?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing. An observation. More of a regret. I wish none of it would’ve happened—especially sleeping with you.”
A protracted silence during which she regretted every word she’d said hovered between them. If only this weren’t a phone conversation and she could see his face—something she’d see soon enough on Monday morning. If she didn’t fix the error now, Monday morning would be hellacious.
“I didn’t mean that.”
When he didn’t answer immediately, she feared the damage was irreparable. Then, he sighed and said, “I don’t blame you for being bitter. You didn’t deserve to have things end the way they did.”
“We needn’t review it.”
“I’m trying to make a point here.”
She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it, and waited for him to continue.
“Don’t blame us for what happened after that, Ellen. Nothing we did after that night can take away what we felt for each other then, and if things derailed afterwards, it had nothing to do with what Fran did or didn’t do. She chose to embezzle from the company. That’s on her and her accomplice.”
“But if I hadn’t left, she never would’ve worked there.”
He paused a beat and then said, his voice gentle, “Did you leave so you wouldn’t have to see me when I returned?”
She didn’t hesitate this time. “Yes.”
“And then I didn’t come home anyway.”
“So I left for no reason, and because I left, they hired Fran. You know the rest.”
“For God’s sake, Ellen, you could’ve left for a hundred different reasons. That just happened to be the one that got you out the door and Fran in. You’re not responsible for hiring her or for her choices, so stop feeling guilty about it. You want to do something positive, help me figure this out.”
“I said I would.” And then she’d leave. She needed out, away from him. But what if by leaving, she simply repeated past mistakes? Did flight always have to be her go-to response? She couldn’t answer that. At least, for now, she’d stick around and help him clean up what she indirectly considered her mess, whether or not he believed it.
“Go enjoy your party. I’ll see you Monday. Will you be all right?”
Someone rapped on her apartment door, and Rhonda called out, “Ellen? Are you in there?”
To Gabriel, Ellen said, her voice low and conspiratorial, “I’ll be fine. Gotta go.” She took him off speaker as he bid her goodbye and disconnected the call.
To Rhonda, she called out, “It’s open; come on in.”
As the door opened and Rhonda stepped into the living room, Ellen pasted a smile on her face. “Hey, what’s up?”
“You tell me,” Rhonda replied. “You’re the one who disappeared from the party. John’s wondering what he did wrong.”
“It’s all right. I’m coming back now. I got a work call.”
“That wasn’t a ‘work’ call,” Rhonda retorted, air-quoting the word work. “That was Gabriel, and he’s trying to horn in on your weekend.”
“It was Gabe, yes, but he wanted to discuss work. He’s been digging into the BRI financials and discovered suspicious fund transfers he wants me to look at.” She’d revealed too much information, but in her great need to refute what Rhonda suspected, she couldn’t stop herself. “Don’t say anything to anyone. It’s not for sure. I’ll have to take a look on Monday, but at least it gives me a starting point.” She sighed. “What happened to Francesca wasn’t suicide. I’m sure of it, but we can’t prove it.”
“The media reports said the police were investigating the death as suspicious.”
“Yes, because it was likely murder. They just don’t want to come out and say so yet.”
“Have they talked to you?”
“No, but I’m probably low on the list they have to cover. I worked with her for two we
eks and haven’t had contact with her since I left. I wouldn’t have much to offer in the way of insights into her death, especially if they think it might be suicide.”
“Forget about it for now,” Rhonda suggested. “Enjoy the party. Assure John he hasn’t ticked you off. I could use another drink. How about you?”
“Sure,” Ellen replied. “I’ll be right up.”
When Rhonda frowned, Ellen said, “I’m going to use the bathroom down here before I come up. Just go.” She waved her friend along, and Rhonda obligingly left, shutting the door behind her.
Ellen locked the door and called Gabriel back. When he picked up, she said, “Have you looked at Fran’s HR files? Her previous workplaces?”
“No.” Her point must have dawned on him then, because he said, “I’ll hunt them up tomorrow and let you know what I find.”
Happy she’d helped him, even if minimally, Ellen said goodbye and disconnected the call. Time to return to the party.
***
“Glad you could join us. I’ve brought you a glass of wine. Red. I noticed that’s what you usually drink.” John held a wineglass out to Ellen, and she accepted it with a “thank you.”
Not wanting to go into details but wishing to allay his insecurities, she said, “Phone call. Work-related. Sorry I skipped out on you. Shall we go sit in the living room?”
“Sure.” He allowed her to lead him to a couple of empty chairs in the living room. “Your parents have a nice house.”
“Thanks. I’m only living here temporarily.” Her expression turned sheepish. “I had a rough time a few years ago and moved back in. I’m picking myself back up to the point where I can think about moving out again in a year or two.” She didn’t want to leave too quickly. Once she left, she didn’t plan to return.
“What happened? If you don’t mind talking about it.”
She contemplated what to tell him. “I had a bad breakup and then was unemployed for six weeks. Since I’d been living paycheque to paycheque, I had to give up my apartment and move back home. I’m lucky to have my parents as a fallback.”
“Sure. Were you working as an accounting tech at the time?”
“Yes.” She left it at that, but he pressed her.
“Where were you working?”
“Business Reports.”
His eyes lit up. “Weren’t they recently bought out?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard they’ve had some tough times in the past few years. Maybe they couldn’t get along without you.” He chuckled.
She smiled, but it was a fake one; inside, tension bloomed and she had a craving for something to eat. “Want some food? My parents have quite a spread in the dining room. Have you seen it?”
He agreed, and they went to get something to eat. Ellen piled her plate with samples of most of the available snacks, both salty and sweet. When they returned to their seats, she opened the conversation so he wouldn’t get the opportunity to ask anything more about BRI or Gabriel or the past three years.
“So, what are you working on these days? Have you been with your current firm long?”
“I’ve been here about five years. I’m working toward saving money to open my own office.”
“What’s the name of the firm where you’re working?” She didn’t know one law firm from another, but she needed to keep him talking about himself.
“Benson, Dwyer, and Lawson.”
As she’d expected, she’d never heard of them. “They keeping you busy?”
“Sure. Lots of labour-related disputes, mostly over severance pay.”
“Is that what you specialize in?”
“Kind of by default. Sometimes, I represent the company; other times, the employee. Either way, I get the job done. I win my cases.”
“Impressive.” He must be good if he wins all the time. Or he exaggerated.
“Thanks. Do you know Gabriel Duncan?”
Damn, she’d let him get a word in.
“Sure. I knew him from BRI.” She hesitated, not wanting to reveal they worked together once again, but decided there was no point in concealing the information. He’d find out soon enough. “He’s also my new client.”
He set the fork down on his plate and used a napkin to blot his mouth and wipe his fingers. “Interesting.” He dropped the used napkin onto his plate.
“You know him?” It wouldn’t surprise her. Gabriel had a lot of connections through business and his family.
“No, just heard about the buyout and then that employee’s death on the news. Terrible what happened.”
“Yes.”
“I heard it was suicide.”
She shrugged, reluctant to discuss anything about Gabriel, Francesca, or her death. She didn’t know anything anyway, and the police hadn’t found her worthy of questioning. Yet.
“As far as I know, that’s what they believe.” A small lie wouldn’t hurt. She bit into a cupcake, chewed, swallowed, ate some potato chips. Followed that up with nachos and salsa.
He grinned. “Enough talk about horrible things. We’re here to have a good time. How about you give me a private tour of your apartment? I’d love to see it.”
She hesitated, not sure she wanted to show him her private space, but it would help demonstrate to anyone who noticed them leave that he was her boyfriend. She stood and offered him her hand. “Sure, why not?”
***
“So,” she said to John as they stepped into her apartment, “I hope you didn’t let the cat out of the bag that you’re my fake date for the night when my parents grilled you.”
“Not at all,” he replied. “I made it clear I’m interested in seeing you regularly. Your mother seemed delighted.”
“And my father?”
“He’s inscrutable. He smiled and nodded. I get the feeling he trusts your judgment.”
She laughed. “He does. Which means he might realize this is all a ruse to get my mother to back off.”
She swept her arm around the living room and said, “Living room.” Without waiting to see his reaction, she threw open the bathroom door. “Bathroom. Pretty big for a basement, and it’s four-piece.” She flicked the light on, waited for him to peer in, and flicked the light off again. From there, she directed him through an open door on the left to view the kitchen, which also was fairly large.
A fridge and stove stood against the south wall. Mister Cuddles’s food dish, empty, sat, along with the water dish, on a placemat on the floor next to the fridge. Since the cat was nowhere in sight, she assumed he’d hid when he realized she’d brought a stranger into the apartment. The west wall had the double sink and cupboards above and below it, as well as a dishwasher to the right of the sink. The north wall had a bar with stools set underneath the windows. An island with more storage space underneath stood in the middle of the room.
“Well, that’s the main living areas.” She hesitated, suddenly not wanting to lead him through her bedroom. Nonsense. It’s just another room, and nothing really personal’s on display.
“Nice. Sparsely furnished, but it makes the rooms look bigger. I like the sectional sofa and the gas fireplace. You’re lucky you have your own thermostat so you can control the heat setting.”
“Yes, but I don’t have any control over the air conditioning. It’s always cold down here in the summer.” She strode back through the kitchen, across the living room, and into her bedroom through its open door. He followed closely behind her.
She pointed to the double doors of her closet. “It’s a walk-in. With a light in it.” She flicked the light on in the bedroom to illuminate the entire room but kept the closet doors closed.
As she scanned the room, she tried to view it from a stranger’s perspective: the desk, her laptop open on top of it nearest the closet; bookshelves along the wall; a queen bed sticking out into the centre of the room from the narrow end of the long room; and pale yellow walls that gave the room a touch of cheer.
“I wasn’t lying, Ellen.” His voice had grown quiet. �
��I do want to keep seeing you.”
She shook her head. “We’re friends, John.”
“For now?”
She didn’t want to promise him anything, but she also didn’t want to offend him, so she simply said, “Yes, for now.” While she didn’t believe he was the dangerous stalker type, you couldn’t tell with some guys. Best to be cagey about these things.
“Come on. We should go back upstairs before my dad comes searching for us.” She smiled to show all was well and led the way back out of the apartment.
Chapter Twelve
Monday morning dawned snowy and cold. A typical late November day, according to the weather report. Gabriel drove to the office despite the dicey road conditions. He assumed the day would be a long one, and he didn’t want to take public transit or a cab home. In the back of his mind, he also hoped to offer Ellen a ride home. Time to take their relationship to the next level—or to any level. He’d wasted enough time apart from her for a colossally stupid reason.
Not that it mattered, but he’d dug up the HR files from three years ago and pulled up a list of all the female employees who worked at BRI the day he and Ellen had hooked up. To be thorough, he’d also pulled up a client list that included all females who’d had meetings at the company offices that day. Luckily, that list turned out to be zero, so he could be relatively certain the mystery gossip worked at the company. The list, he was dismayed to note, included Katrina Weever, and after serious contemplation, she became his prime suspect.
He’d always been aware she was attracted to him, and until he’d returned from England, he hadn’t given her too much thought. She was nice enough, attractive, smart, but back then, Ellen preoccupied him. Their relationship appeared to be moving forward, had seemed solid and full of potential. Why would he let another woman distract him?
The rumour of a fiancé was a perfect way to force him to doubt Ellen and her relationship with him though it was also stupid and risky. If he’d tracked down Ellen immediately, she’d have denied the rumour, and they’d have started dating again a year ago.