Show and Tell (29 page)
Tapping a mechanical pencil on his doodle-covered blotter, Mr. Wanamaker pointed to the chair next to Inga’s. “Please, do have a seat.” The tone suggested that at any moment, he’d bite the heads off poor unsuspecting kittens.
Trinity was a kitten.
She sat. “Is there a problem, sir?”
“A small one.” With a full head of wiry gray hair and lines that bisected his forehead and cut cleanly from his nose to the corners of his mouth, Mr. Wanamaker was still of an indeterminate age. At the Christmas parties, Trinity knew him as Paul, but she learned he ran a tight ship, and underlings did the Mister thing.
At company functions, he’d never made her quake in her shoes. “I’ll help if I can.” She slid a glance to Inga. The woman hadn’t just lapped the cream, she’d gorged on it, and Trinity knew things were bad.
“It seems the checking account has gone negative.”
“Don’t you have overdraft protection?”
Three sets of eyes bored into her, whether it was the use of
you
instead of
we
or because she hadn’t shown an appropriate reaction, whatever that might be.
you
instead of
we
or because she hadn’t shown an appropriate reaction, whatever that might be.
“Miss Green, that isn’t the point here.” His steel gray eyebrows cinched together.
With the look on Inga’s face, Trinity knew a slam-down was coming. She wondered idly how many slams she could take and still get back up.
Mr. Wanamaker opened his mouth. There was a flurry outside the door, then it burst open. Boyd stumbled in. “Sir. AR is negative, too.” He threw out a deep exhale as if he’d been holding it the whole time he ran from his cube to Mr. W.’s office.
“That’s not possible.” Mr. W. flopped in his chair, shot himself backwards toward the credenza, whirled around, and started typing furiously on his keyboard. “Why, receipts are posted twice.” He pointed as if no one actually believed him. More key tapping. “And checks are posted twice.”
Inga licked the kitty cream off her lips. “It sounds like the bank download was duplicated.”
“I did it once,” Trinity said. She
knew
she’d only done it once. Didn’t she? She
had
been talking to Harper.
knew
she’d only done it once. Didn’t she? She
had
been talking to Harper.
“
I
did it this morning because you were late.” Inga smiled like a viper. “You know it has to be done before eight thirty.”
I
did it this morning because you were late.” Inga smiled like a viper. “You know it has to be done before eight thirty.”
Trinity opened her mouth.
Inga cut her off. “I left you a note, Miss Green.”
“I didn’t see it.” There was no note. “Perhaps it got buried in my in-box.” Like the wire transfer request from her father.
Inga actually smirked. “I put it right on your keyboard so you’d be sure to see it.”
Trinity wanted to scream, but that was pointless. She’d been bested again. “Well, it does seem like an error has been made. What do we do now to fix it?”
Waves of malicious pleasure rolled off Inga. “We’ll have to restore the system back to last night’s backup.” She waved a hand, smiling first at Mr. Ackerman, then Mr. W. “Unless we have Christina and the girls go back in and manually delete the duplicate checks and AR receipts?”
“We’ll do the restore,” Mr. Wanamaker commanded. “Ackerman, what does that involve?”
Musing, Mr. Ackerman gave one last tug on his hair tuft. “We’ll lose whatever’s been entered this morning, then there’ll be the work stoppage while the system is down, but that shouldn’t be more than half an hour. Boyd”—he pointed a finger—“tell everyone to stop entering data in both the AP and AR modules.” And he waved Boyd off to do his bidding.
“Isn’t there some sort of safeguard against downloading the bank data twice?” The system hadn’t even asked her the question.
"She’s got a point, Ackerman.” Though Mr. W. seemed slightly awed that Trinity could actually
have
a point.
have
a point.
“This is the first time we’ve had three people with the access codes. Previously it was myself and Inga.”
See!
Trinity wanted to blurt out that it wasn’t her fault. It was someone
else’s
fault. But she was a supervisor, she’d been late, and she had no doubt a note was
somewhere
in her cubicle.
Trinity wanted to blurt out that it wasn’t her fault. It was someone
else’s
fault. But she was a supervisor, she’d been late, and she had no doubt a note was
somewhere
in her cubicle.
Leaving Mr. Wanamaker’s office, Trinity marched back to her cubicle. Where could it be? She sifted through her in-basket. Not there. She ruffled piles of paper. No note. Then she stopped, stared. One crumpled bit of paper lay forlornly at the bottom of her trashcan. Gritting her teeth, Trinity picked it out, smoothed it on the desktop, and read.
“I’ve already downloaded the bank data. Don’t do it again.”
Her blood ran so hot, it scorched her veins. She didn’t make scenes. She was better than that. Instead, she entered Inga’s cubicle quietly, a smile on her lips and fire in her eyes. Setting the note on Inga’s keyboard, Trinity was gratified the way the woman jumped.
“That,” Trinity said, her voice low, “was in my trash.”
Inga recovered. “You shouldn’t have thrown it out.”
“That’s where you
put
it.” She didn’t raise her voice.
put
it.” She didn’t raise her voice.
“I did not.” Inga snorted and brushed the note aside.
“I supposed it crumpled itself and
fell
in the trash.”
fell
in the trash.”
Inga trilled her fingernails on her keypad, then slowly rolled her chair back and rose to her full stiletto-heeled height. “I left it in your cubicle like I said I did.” Folding her arms beneath her breasts, she straightened her shoulders. “Everyone can hear you trying to foist the blame off on me.” Then she smiled. Like Eve’s snake offering the apple.
They both knew she was lying, yet Trinity couldn’t prove a thing. She could only make herself look worse.
How did you deal with a woman who lied even when openly confronted?
IN the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains where he lived, it didn’t rain more days than over the hill in the Bay Area. It simply rained harder, pounding on the roof, dumping it down until the eaves overflowed and created a waterfall out in the atrium. Yet the lush green after the wet season was one of the reasons Scott loved it here, and you had to love the area to justify the trek over the hill every day. In the summer, the fog rolled off the ocean and cooled everything down, while in Silicon Valley, it could be stifling. The view out his floor-to-ceiling living room windows was of the forest, pine, redwood, oak, liquid amber. At night, the coyotes serenaded him to sleep. In the morning, chattering squirrels woke him.
Scott poured himself a finger of scotch and lit a fire to ward off the rain’s dampness and the chill of the February evening. He booted up his notebook on the coffee table.
She hadn’t left a message at work, nor had he checked his e-mail all day. It felt like the early days of college courtship, who’s going to call who, who’ll make the first move. He was more than twenty years past that, yet he’d never dealt with a woman who wouldn’t give him her name even though she’d fucked him.
Maybe that fact was why he’d needed the scotch. He was man enough to admit he couldn’t wait until Friday to check his e-mail. Maybe she’d relented . . .
The back of his neck prickled. One message remained after he’d deleted the spam. It wasn’t her. The same address as before, an attachment, the subject line reading, “Caught you again.”
This time, there was a message. “You are a very naughty man.” Despite himself, he got a chill. Jezebel had called him a naughty man.
Could this all be a blackmail setup orchestrated by her?
Not likely.
He’d
knocked on
her
hotel room door.
He’d
knocked on
her
hotel room door.
The creamy skin of her exposed thigh was the lightest tone in the photo. The dark alcove obscured the rest of her, though there was no doubt his hand explored the mysteries beneath her skirt. Like an ingrained memory, her scent filled his head. His fingers could almost feel the silk of her skin. And he had to stop the obsessive thinking. Everything came back to her.
Mark was a wizard. Could he track the e-mail address and see who originated it? Then again, Scott didn’t want to take Mark’s work time for a personal matter. Checking on the badge could be accounted for as a security issue: There had been an unclaimed card key out there. Tracking back this e-mail, however, couldn’t be justified. The alternative was to admit to Mark the personal nature and ask him to research in off hours.
If Mark could find out who’d sent the JPEGs, he could also get to Jezebel’s real identity. The thought spiraled Scott down into a world filled with her scent, her textures, her voice. The detective work was a slippery slope to violating her privacy.
One thing was for sure: Whoever had taken the photo was probably in the theater as well. He was being followed, watched. Threatened? He couldn’t be sure, but he did send out a test.
“If this is blackmail, you should know I don’t give a damn what you do with those pictures.” Then he hit Send.
Hell, there’d be no more public hanky-panky. Hotel rooms were a possibility, but preferably his house.
Maybe the e-mails could actually work in his favor. If he told her about them. Yet, tracking her down, either through her e-mail or her license plate, scaring her with the threat of blackmail, was a shitty path to take.
Jesus. How low would he sink to get what he wanted?
“THANKS for inviting me to dinner, Daddy.” Trinity had actually avoided the country club since she’d kicked Harper out.
Her father was already seated, and she bent to kiss the top of his head. He’d ordered a fried calamari appetizer.
“Should you be eating that?”
He shot her a look as he popped one of the morsels into his mouth. Ooh-kay. She’d keep her trap shut about his dining habits. It was just that he’d undo the good habits he’d started.
Trinity primly perched on the seat next to him. “Thanks for ordering me a lemon water.”
“You can have some calamari.” He stabbed one of the squiggly little things with his fork.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” She sipped her water.
Early on a weeknight, the country club’s dining room wasn’t full. Maybe it was the rain, too, beating against the garden windows. People wanted to get home. Despite the candles against the white tablecloths, the rain made everything seem dark and oppressive. But there were the Plumleys and a few others she knew. Trinity waved and smiled, praying no one came over.
She opened her menu.
“I ordered you spinach salad with no dressing, bacon bits, or egg crumbles.”
Which made it a bowl of spinach instead of a salad. How had she managed to eat like that all these years? She flipped a menu page. “Thank you, but I’d like something more substantial.”
Daddy touched her forehead. “Are you all right?”
Suddenly she wanted to tell him everything, how her new flame needed a respite from her and her new job was getting old fast. “I’m fine,” she said instead. “I just forgot to eat.” She’d finally remembered when her temples began to throb with a hunger headache.
Their French waiter arrived, and even his flattering glances didn’t make her feel any better. So she ordered the mushroom crepes with a creamy sauce. She’d always wondered how good they’d taste. “You can skip the spinach my father ordered.”
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