So About the Money (13 page)

What a sad and simple statement. Everyone deserved an opportunity for love. In spite of her career aspirations, she hoped for the same chance. “You can’t blame yourself. You tried, but nobody really knows what’s happening in someone else’s mind, or why they make the choices they do. Marcy loved being back here, close to her family. She talked about all of you, all the time.”

Yessica’s tears overflowed. “She spoke of you as well. She said you were a friend.”

Holly grabbed another tissue, then stepped closer. “I wish there was more I could do.” The only thing she could do right now was put her arms around a grieving soul and hold on tight.
 

A few minutes later, Yessica wiped her eyes and sniffled. “Thanks.”

Holly stepped back. “Have you told the police here about Lee Alders?”

“Don’t they know? Maricella got the papers, the restraining order.” Yessica dabbed at her nose.

“In Seattle?”

“Yes.” Confusion wrinkled Yessica’s forehead. “The women’s advocate took the papers to the courthouse and the judge signed them.”
 

“I don’t know exactly how it works, if there’s a central database or something. The local cops might not know about the restraining order.” Holly considered what JC would say if she suggested he look at Marcy’s ex. “It would be better if you told the police about Lee.”

JC needed to know what Lee had done. That was where he should concentrate, not on Tim and Alex.
 

Or her.

Chapter Eleven

Tuesday morning

Holly spread the newspaper over the files on her desk. Coverage of Marcy’s murder had already moved from the front page to the second section. Today’s article offered a preliminary assessment of Marcy’s life, starting with, “No criminal record.”
 

Like that should be the highlight of anyone’s life.
 

The story mentioned Marcy’s job at the real estate company, the planned memorial service, and a private interment. Holly nearly spewed coffee over the next line. “Police again questioned local accountant Holly Price and developer Tim Stevens.”

WTF?

What was the reporter trying to do, force her to talk to him by otherwise ruining her business? Holly was still staring at the sentence when a masculine voice said, “You checking out the story in the
Tri-Cycle
?”
 

“What?” She gave Rick Stewert a startled look.
 

“The
Tri-City Courier
.”
 

Oh. Tri-Cycle. Baby reporters with training wheels. She nodded. “Yeah.”
 

The sandy-haired man lounging in her office doorway gestured at the newspaper. “Did they manage to get any of it right?”

“The part about finding Marcy by the Snake River is right. According to this, she was already dead—shot—when she went into the water. She didn’t drown.” A shudder rippled over Holly’s shoulders. Drowning topped her personal list of horrible ways to die.
 

A frown followed. Being shot probably ranked second.

“Marcy was a sweet girl. I’m gonna miss seeing her around. I feel bad for her family.” Rick dropped into the visitor chair. Her senior manager squirmed and grimaced. “This chair really sucks, you know?”

She’d known the guy since high school, so she grinned. “Makes people leave faster.”

“Is that a hint?” Laughter sparkled in Rick’s hazel eyes.
 

“Not yet.” She tapped a finger against the newspaper. “Of course, I’m not sure how accurate any of this is. According to the reporter, I’m still a Person of Interest.”

“Really?” Rick’s face mocked horror. “I’d hate to find out I worked for a felon.”

“Very funny. The article says they’re trying to locate the original crime scene.”
 

“Makes sense. Wherever Marcy was shot, there’ll be evidence. The cops probably talked to everyone upstream from Big Flats. Hopefully somebody will give them a lead.”
 

JC’s focus on the people around Marcy made more sense in that context. All the police had to go on was what they could learn from people who knew her. She bit her lip, uncomfortable she hadn’t been more help, but really, there wasn’t anything she could’ve added.
 

Then again, JC’s approach, asking about Tim and Alex the way he did, didn’t exactly inspire confidence. He’d seemed to start with the assumption the men were guilty. Maybe he was so used to dealing with people who casually broke the law, he’d forgotten not everybody did.
 

“Earth to Holly.”

She blinked.
 

Rick’s grin slowly faded. He stepped across the office and closed the door. “I need to talk to you.”

Uh-oh
. Closed door equaled trouble. She scanned his face, running a quick catalog of possible issues. Another job offer. Staff problems.
Please don’t let it be staff problems
.
 

“What’s on your mind?” she asked.

He flexed his fingers, making a false start. His gaze roamed the office, but there weren’t many trinkets to distract him. Holly had packed up her father’s stuff when she moved into the office and hadn’t bothered to unpack her own belongings.
 

Rick leaned back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “How long are you here?”

She blinked again. How long was this conversation going to take? “I don’t have anything scheduled until late this afternoon.”

“No, I mean, how long are you going to stay? In Richland?”

“I don’t know exactly.” She couldn’t see her watch, so she didn’t know
exactly
when she planned to bolt for Seattle.
 

He drummed his fingers against his knee. “When your dad took off, I figured you came to help your mom.”

She nodded.
 

Rick dropped his foot to the floor and leaned forward, his shoulders a rigid line. “The way I see it, you’re running yourself ragged bringing in new business for one of two reasons.”

Wow. She’d hoped to avoid
this
conversation entirely. She forced her expression to stay neutral.

“Have your parents filed for divorce?”

She folded the newspaper and tucked the local section into her “Marcy” file, buying time. He may be a friend, but he was an employee. A key employee she needed to keep onboard. “Between you and me?”

“Sure.”
 

“Not yet. Mother signed separation papers.”

“Good.” He nodded again, apparently checking off an internal list. “Your parents probably owned the practice jointly, but he walked away.”

She figured this wasn’t the time to mention that both her parents had given her a small ownership stake in the practice. Of course, since they’d made her a member of the limited liability company instead of an employee, she wasn’t paid a fixed salary. And since she was taking a leave of absence from her Seattle job, she wasn’t drawing a salary there either. Which meant, she stayed broke.
 

Definitely something wrong with that picture.

Rick continued, “Washington’s a community property state. Your father will likely get half the practice in the settlement, as of the time they separated. The new business should stay with your mother.”

“I don’t do much estate work.”

“If you stay,” he paused and gave her a pointed look, “you’ll need to learn it. Anyway, I hope that’s the reason for all the new clients—your mother needs the cash from the new business to buy him out.”

“Honestly, I’m not that involved.”

His skeptical look said he didn’t believe her. “The other alternative is you’re building up the practice to sell it.”

She winced inwardly. The staff was not supposed to know that. The clients were definitely not supposed to know. “Mother asked me to help. To bring in more business. That’s what I’ve done. She hasn’t told me her longer range plans.”

“Holly.” He used the same cool tone. “I didn’t move to Seattle when I graduated because I wasn’t interested in working for a big firm.”

She pasted on her understanding smile. When she left Richland for college, she had no intention of returning to the small town. High risk, high reward; she thrived on the high-profile pressure of the mergers and acquisitions work.

“I didn’t want the hours or the stress,” Rick said.
 

Oh crap
. He was going to leave. He couldn’t leave. She needed him to manage the staff. To handle the project work.
 

And dammit, she liked him. He was one of her allies, her friends.
 

Rick recrossed his legs. “I talked to Bill Druise over at Wiltshire and Caruthers. He said we’d be working together soon.”
 

Blabbermouth
. Druise wouldn’t last two minutes in corporate transactions.
 

“That was seriously jumping the gun,” she assured him. “Mother told me W&C called. They’ve thrown out some feelers, probably hoping to pick up the practice at a bargain basement price—which isn’t going to happen, by the way. She didn’t say whether they made an actual offer. Or if she’d even consider a proposal.”

His shoulders relaxed an inch. “That’s a relief. I don’t want to leave Desert Accounting.”

“That’s good to hear. I don’t want you leaving, either.” Slumping in her chair, she kneaded the muscles in the back of her neck. “Now quit worrying.”

“I’ll quit worrying when you quit bringing in more clients.” The teasing note was back in his voice.

She made a shooing motion. “Go harass the staff or something.”

“Or should I say, when you earn your ‘walking money’?”

“Out.” She pointed at the door and Rick left, wearing a self-satisfied smirk.
 

Holly stared at the mess on her desk. She might feel overwhelmed at times by everything her mother asked of her and privately bitch about it, but she’d never regret helping her.
 

Had she handled Rick appropriately? Although he’d seemed okay with her explanations, the boss role still felt foreign.
 

With a twitch of her shoulders, she set Rick and his questions aside. She was only here a few more months. Rick might end up working for a slightly larger firm, but he’d be okay. In the meantime, she had to focus on what was important.

She propped her elbows on the desk and braced her forehead against her palms.

So many things were important.

Clearing her name. Solving Marcy’s murder.
 

Shoring up her mother. Bringing in new work. Selling the company.
 

Then there was her and Alex. And maybe JC.

With all of them important, it was almost overwhelming.

The biggest challenge of all might be figuring out what was
most
important.
 

Chapter Twelve

The necklace
had
to be a clue.
 

Holly leaned toward her computer monitor and studied the blown-up image she’d Photoshopped from the picture at Tim’s party. She concentrated on the shiny ornament around Marcy’s neck.
 

Nice rock.
 

Yessica might know where Marcy got it, but with yesterday’s unexpected revelations about Lee, she hadn’t thought to ask her about it. She picked up the phone and called Yessica’s store.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Herrera isn’t available. May I take a message?” a woman’s voice asked.
 

Holly left her name and cell phone number. Most likely Yessica was with her family, arranging Marcy’s wake. Drumming her fingers on her desk, Holly frowned at the picture. Who else could she ask?

Her gaze drifted guiltily to the stack of files in her in-box. She ought to be preparing for her next meeting or reviewing files. Instead, she rummaged through the desk drawer for the phonebook, found the list of local jewelers, and dialed the first number.
 

An hour later, she dropped the handset back into the cradle. She’d gotten “We don’t give out that information,” a few “No comments,” which probably meant that irritating reporter must have had the same idea, and a couple of “The police already asked’s,” which meant JC was once again BSing her about what he knew about Marcy.