In A Heartbeat (14 page)

“That’s not the point, Max. We requested a sample of invoices. Missing anything in a sample could mean we’re looking at the tip of an iceberg. There could be lots of missing invoices.”

“Or it could mean they couldn’t find three invoices.” Max ran his fingers down his scarlet and gray striped tie, accidentally triggering the little metal insert that played the Ohio State University fight song in tinny notes. Angela leaned back in her chair.

“You’re starting early, aren’t you? The big game’s not till this Saturday.”

“It’s never too early for football.” He smiled. “The whole city is gearing up for the game. Some alumni you are,” he scolded. “I’m surprised you’re not wearing scarlet and gray.”

Angie reached in her pocket and rolled a buckeye, the symbol of the university’s football team, across the table.

“I knew it.” Max caught the nut as it wobbled to the table edge. “Do you have tickets?”

“Are you kidding? My alumni status earned me a bleacher seat for a non-conference game. I gave it to my brother. He’s a bigger fan than I am.” She didn’t add that she’d never attended a football game. Her imperfect heart and an over-protective family wouldn’t allow it, too much excitement, they said.

“A bunch of us are going to Timothy’s to watch the game on the big screen. You can always join us.” Max rolled the buckeye back to her.

“We’ll see.” Angie slipped the good luck charm back in her pocket. “Meanwhile, I think we should get back to business.”

“So what do you want me to do? I could write up the missing invoices for the Letter of Recommendations,” Max offered. “Or I could go back out there and look at more invoices.” He tilted his head, accurately reading Angela’s mind. “Of course, if I go back out, we’ll probably overrun the budget for interim work.”

“Something about this whole thing isn’t right.” She hesitated, staring at the screen. “Were the missing invoices all from the same vendor?”

“Nope. Three different invoices, three different vendors.” Max slipped his hands deep in his pants pocket. “What’s it going to be?”

“I definitely want you to write this up for the Letter of Recommendations. At the very least, not producing the documents shows a lack of control over processed invoices. Then, let’s take another look to see if there’s some commonality between the three. Were they all processed in the same month? Were they for the same item? Would the same accounts payable clerk have been responsible for them?”

One of the office secretaries poked her head around the library door. “Angie? Mr. Falstaff wants to see you.”

Oh crap! Discomfort settled in her stomach.

“Be right there,” she called in what she hoped was a confident tone. She glanced toward Max, noting conflicting sympathy and curiosity. “See if you can find something to tie this down a little tighter.” She pushed away from the table. “Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

Angela managed her way down the hallway to the corner office with hardly a wobble. As long as she stayed off her feet for most of the day, her plastic brace and unattractive tennis shoe remained the only evidence of her mishap last week.

The secretary wasn’t at the desk, but the door to Falstaff’s office stood ajar. Angie knocked on the doorframe before entering.

“Angela, come in. Come in.” Falstaff didn’t rise, gesturing instead to the two chairs in front of an untidy desk. “Have a seat.”

She selected the chair closest to the door, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the seat.

“I understand you’ve made quite an impression on Mr. Renard,” Falstaff said.

Angie’s heartbeat raced. Who told? She tried to remember if anyone had passed the two of them in the car that first night. Maybe someone overheard their argument at Hayden? Or maybe after he dismissed the need for additional services, Hank decided to dismiss her as well and then called Falstaff.

No, she quickly dismissed that last thought. Hank’s invitation for friendship was sincere. Wasn’t it?

“After his initial reaction that first day, I thought there might be problems,” Falstaff continued. “The thing is—” He removed his wire rim glasses and let them hang from his fingers. “Renard’s offered Falstaff and Watterson four seats to the Ohio State football game this weekend. He insists the audit team attend.”

“I beg your pardon?” Angie asked, stunned that she wasn’t the recipient of a client relations lecture.

“Hayden Manufacturing has a box at the stadium. It’s not a suite, but they’re still excellent seats. Owens invited me a few years back. That was some game, let me tell you.” He squinted in Angela’s direction. “Quite a coup for you and young Max to be invited.”

“Can we accept?” Her voice squeaked. She hadn’t yet accepted that she wasn’t in trouble. “Wouldn’t this threaten our independence?”

“A football game?” Falstaff laughed, barely able to resettle his glasses on his nose. “Seriously, this gives you a perfect opportunity to talk to Renard about extended services, and I’ll be right there to help you along.”

“You’ll be there?” Her initial sense of panic morphed into dread. She hadn’t mentioned Hank’s earlier dismissal of the entire subject. Her faint hope that Falstaff had forgotten this condition for promotion quickly dissolved.

“Of course, I’ll be there,” he insisted. “It should be a great game and I wouldn’t want to insult our host by turning down his invitation. But we still need a fourth. Who’s the tax partner assigned to Hayden?”

She answered, but her mind had already tuned out of his continued conversation. What could be worse than being rejected in front of her boss and associates. He’d already rejected her proposal privately, now he’d do it publicly at a game totally foreign to her. All this on top of a vague suspicion that we’d missed something in the audit. Could a day take a worse turn than this?

“Angie?”

“Oh, sorry.” She left her meanderings. “Did you ask me something?”

“I wondered if you had found anything specific that we could parlay into extended services?” He toyed with a pencil, glancing at her over the rim of his glasses.

“Well, we’ve had a bit of a problem with missing vendor invoices, but I’m not sure—”

“Splendid. We could review and make recommendations about the whole accounts payable process. Excellent work. We’ll talk to Renard about it.” Falstaff settled back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “Keep it up, Angela. You’ll be a partner before you know it.”

Angie recognized her cue to leave. After an obligatory thank you, she returned to the library. Max glanced up from the screen.

“How’d it go?”

Horrible.
“Not bad,” she answered. “Renard’s given us seats to the game this weekend.”

“You’re kidding!” His jaw dropped. “I heard the scalpers are asking $400 for tickets, and we get to go free?” At her nod, Max jumped up and danced around the room to the tinny refrains from his tie. Angela slumped in the chair.

“Why so glum?” He asked after the third rendition of the fight song.

“Nothing important.”

She certainly didn’t want to discuss the possibility that the game on Saturday might destroy all her hopes for advancement within the firm. Nor did she want to disclose her ignorance about football in general. That would lead to questions she would prefer to avoid. She sighed. Speculation had been high on local radio and television stations about winners and losers of this game. Unfortunately, she suspected she already knew who would lose, and it wasn’t anyone on the field.

She shifted position so she could rest her foot on the opposite chair. The best she could do now was wrap up this Hayden assignment and bring it in under budget. Maybe that would be worth something. Perhaps Falstaff would reconsider his ultimatum if she excelled in other areas. She glanced at Max. “Did you discover anything about the missing invoices?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.” His smile extended from ear to ear. “They’re all direct ships.”

“To that same address on Ritchton?” An uneasiness filled her at his nod. She’d put off investigating Ritchton Street before for one reason or another, but so many uncertainties seemed to hover around that address.

“Is there anything else, Angie? I’ve got some buddies I want to call…er…rub in the good news.” He grinned.

She waved him off. He gleefully left her alone to ponder her next move.

Her gaze settled on Max’s stack of computer printouts. Rifling through them, she found a report showing the total amount paid to the vendors. Yes! Leave it to sweet-talking Max. She flipped to Timone Industries. At one hundred thousand dollars, Timone wasn’t one of the largest of Hayden’s vendors, but it wasn’t one of the smallest either.

Why wasn’t Pete Burroughs familiar with a vendor of this size? Why didn’t he know this report existed? Or did he? Why all the secrets?

Max returned, whistling the university fight song. “This is too cool. I hear that some of the local corporations have the best seats in the stadium. I can’t wait till Saturday.”

“Max, can I entice you into a little more subterfuge?” She asked.

“What’s up? More digging around for reports?” His eyebrows bobbed up and down. “Are there women involved?”

“Just me, I’m afraid.” Angie laughed. “This time I had something a little more physical in mind.”

“Even better.” He twirled the ends of an imaginary mustache.

“Stop that,” she scolded, laughing right along with him. “I want to check out Timone Industries on Ritchton Street, but I don’t want to go alone. Can you come with me?”

“Maybe,” he said. “When do you want to go?”

“As soon as possible.” She glanced at the computer report. “I’d like to settle this thing in my head. Maybe it’s nothing but…”

“Can’t go tonight,” Max interrupted. “I’ve got a date tomorrow and I plan to be doing some celebrating after the game on Saturday. Is Sunday too late?”

“Can we go at night?” Angie asked. “I don’t want anyone to see us.”

“Wow.” The laughter left his face. “You’re serious about this. That’s a rough part of town, especially at night.”

“It’s probably just my wild imagination.” She brushed it off, as if crazy ideas about investigating suspicious addresses at night were an everyday occurrence. “I just want to check it out.”

Chapter Twelve

THAT EVENING, ANGIE set a big bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of the television, next to a legal pad and a pen. She refused to look like a complete idiot on Saturday. She might not have any control over Falstaff’s appearance, but thanks to the Internet, she’d already researched the rules of the game. She retrieved some material from the printer. Meanwhile, Oreo advanced, her nose twitching delicately at the fluffy white kernels.

“Back off.” Angie gave her a gentle push. “This isn’t for you. I have some serious work to do.” She pushed a button on the remote controller and the television screen came alive with pictures of dancing cheerleaders.

A knock at the door interrupted. Great! Her brother must have changed his mind about her emergency plea for help.

“Stephen. I didn’t think you could make it.” She pulled the door open. Walter Thomas stood on the porch. Her jubilant greeting died in her throat.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you.” He shifted a small brown paper bag from one hand to the other. “Were you expecting someone?”

“Just my brother.” She peeked at the driveway, hoping Stephen, or Max or anyone would suddenly appear. No luck. “He promised to stop by and teach me about football.”

“I won’t keep you then,” Walter said.

A low growl issued from behind her. She closed the door a little so her body would block the entire opening. “I’d invite you in, but the dog…”

“Yes, yes, I understand. Actually, I brought something for the dog. Oreo, isn’t it?” He reached in the bag and withdrew a rawhide bone. “I thought maybe we could make friends.”

The growls intensified, interspersed with frustrated whimpering.

“I don’t know.” Angie glanced at the canine nose forcing its way between her leg and the doorframe. “I don’t think she’s ready for this.”

He offered the bone to the protruding nose, but Oreo backed up and began barking furiously. Walter shoved the bag and the bone into Angie’s hands. “Maybe you should just give this to the dog later.”

“Thank you, Walter,” she called to his retreating back. “I’m sure Oreo will enjoy it.”

He disappeared into the night.

She closed the door, scowling at the dog. “That wasn’t very nice.” Oreo’s head drooped a few inches but her tail started a slight wag. “He even brought you a gift, but I doubt Mom wants a chewed up bone in the house.” She dropped the bag on the kitchen counter. “We’ll save it for outside.”

She returned to the couch. Oreo sat by her side with woeful eyes full of apology.

“Can’t say as I blame you though,” she admitted. “Something about that man gives me the willies.”

Oreo stood, her tail in full swing.

“Come on,” Angie tossed her a few popped kernels. “Let’s watch some football.”

She began by counting the players on each team. If she was going to learn this game, might as well start with numbers.

THE NEXT DAY, she realized television football was nothing like the real thing. Max parked the car then ushered her through the crowds streaming toward a massive concrete stadium. She was jostled and bumped from every direction by people dressed in outrageous combinations of scarlet and gray. The air crackled with pre-recorded band music, amplified radio broadcasts and loud conversation, all floating on the aromas of freshly popped popcorn and long-simmering hot dogs. Max steered her to a ramp that opened into the interior of the stadium. The noise and excitement magnified ten times when she emerged from the tunnel passageway to a blustering October wind. Thousands of cheering football fans smacked into all her senses at once, both overwhelming and invigorating. She loved it!

“Come on, we just can’t stand here.” Max tugged on her elbow. “We have to go up there.” He pointed to a very steep and very narrow column of concrete steps.

They weren’t the first to arrive. Tom Wilson and Pete Burroughs were already seated in “the box” which in reality consisted of two rows of four wooden folding chairs placed on a narrow concrete ledge. Angie hesitated. Another lump of discomfort dumped into her already anxious stomach. She pasted on a smile, gritted her teeth and followed Max to their assigned seats in the back row, opposite the two Hayden executives. Four seats in the front row remained empty.