Ellie Ashe - Miranda Vaughn 02 - Dropping the Dime (12 page)

"So the Bishop Ranch Water District is basically a wholesaler, selling water and electricity, but not directly to the consumer?" I asked, still trying to figure out all the interlacing issues that land development required. No wonder there was a long list of fees and payments on those escrow documents.

"It's the Bishop Valley Water District, but yes, that's basically correct," he said.

I thought back to the escrow papers and tried to visualize the list of payments.

"It's not the Bishop Ranch district?"

"No. It used to cover the whole Bishop Valley at one point. Until the city of Newbury got municipal water and split off."

"Oh."

"The Bishop Ranch is the name of my family's business, so it can't be used on other entities—something that Simon Leonidis learned the expensive way," Quinn said with a wicked grin.

"What happened?"

"When he started developing the property, he wanted to call it the Bishop Ranch development or some such thing. We sued to stop him from using the name of the ranch. It's a business, and it's trademarked. But we couldn't stop him from using the name of the valley, so that's why it's called Bishop Valley Estates."

Quinn laughed. "Unfortunately, he jumped forward with the ranch's name on everything without asking permission, so he had to redo all his marketing materials, his business names, and that massive sign at the entrance to the subdivision," he said. "Between that and the legal fees, I hear he lost quite a bit of money."

I smiled at Quinn's obvious glee. "You don't sound like you like Simon Leonidis that much."

He shrugged. "Nothing against him personally. I understand why my dad sold him the property, though I was against it at the time."

"Why did he sell to Leonidis?" I asked as we started walking back toward the horses.

"You can't stop progress, and there was a huge demand for the land. And ranching is a business. This was land that we could afford to give up. And under the terms that my dad insisted on, we had a say in how it was developed," Quinn said. "Plus the ranch made a bundle on the deal, ensuring that our family's business was secure."

"What do you mean, you had a say in the development?"

"Have you been out there?" he asked and I nodded. "Those lots closest to the river have to be between two and five acres, to reduce the amount of development that's against the water. We also have strict conservation requirements for the entire development, to make sure that the impact on the rest of the valley is minimal."

Quinn paused and looked around with a sigh. "Well, as minimal as thousands of extra people and commuters can be, at least."

He helped me back onto Pepper then climbed onto Pedro and led the way back toward the trail.

"Why are you so interested in the ins and outs of land development, anyway?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at me.

"Something came up at work, and it just caught my interest," I said. I knew I couldn't talk about Kathryn's case, but I wasn't going to lie to Quinn.

He nodded and smiled. "Okay. Let me know if there's anything I can help you with."

He turned back, and we rode in silence for a while, the only sounds the steady, soft clomp of the horses' hooves on dirt and pine needles and the birds in the branches above us. Between the little bit of wine at lunch, the peaceful setting, and the gentle sway of the horse beneath me, I felt totally relaxed. It wasn't until we had reached the edge of the tree line overlooking the ranch that Quinn spoke.

"Looks like we have a visitor," he said, pointing to the barn in the distance. I squinted at the building and fences, but didn't see what he was pointing at. "That's Davy's truck, parked by the gate."

I saw the bright blue four-wheel drive rig now and recognized it as Davy Donnelly's prized possession.

"Were you expecting him?"

Quinn shook his head. We were riding side-by-side, and I could see the frown on his face. "No, I wasn't."

He urged Pedro to a faster pace, and Pepper kept up. I gripped the saddle horn and tried to stay centered on her back. As we approached the gate, I saw Davy sitting on the tailgate of the truck, leaning at a forty-five-degree angle.

"Hey, Davy," Quinn called, raising a hand. "What's up, man?"

Davy jumped off the tailgate and took a step, swayed, then leaned back to steady himself. An empty bottle rolled to the edge of the tailgate and then off, falling into the grass. He leaned over to pick it up and smashed his forehead against the metal and fell sideways to the ground. Davy struggled to sit up, then reached up slowly and touched his forehead, which was turning an angry shade of pink.

"Owwww," he said, still swaying slightly.

"Jesus, Davy, you're wasted," I said and swung a leg over Pepper's back, not bothering to wait for Quinn to help me dismount. "How long have you been here? You didn't drive here like this did you?"

I knelt on the ground next to him and peered into his blurry eyes, concern and anger mingling inside me. I grabbed his arm to keep him sitting upright as the smell of bourbon washed over me.

Davy looked up at me, his eyes wide and glazed. "Hey there, Mirantha," he slurred through a wide grin. "You look like a cowgirl."

He giggled, and I let go of his arm. He promptly fell sideways, and I didn't try to stop him.

Quinn knelt down on the other side of the drunken Davy and grabbed one arm. I took the other and between us, we were able to get him upright and leaning against the truck tire.

"How much of this did you drink, buddy?" Quinn asked, holding the empty half-pint of bourbon.

Davy blinked, as if he were trying to bring the bottle into focus. "Like, this much," he said, holding his fingers apart a few inches.

I frowned. That was a lot of bourbon.

"Oh, Davy," I said, exhaling with frustration. Of all of our clients, Davy was the one I worried about the most. He was the most likely to make a really bad decision and get himself into even more trouble.

"Oh, Mirandy," he said, echoing my tone and patting my arm. "You're so nice."

Quinn suppressed a grin. "What's going on, Davy?"

He leaned his head back against the truck. "I told Becca we had to break up. Then she cried, and damn it, I didn't want to make her cry."

Davy hiccupped, and Quinn and I exchanged a glance. Becca, Davy's girlfriend, had stood by his side through the entire case, a solid and soothing presence in his life.

"Why'd you do that, Davy?" Quinn asked.

"She desherves better," he said, leaning forward. "I'll be gone for so long."

His head hung low, and his shoulders sagged, and my heart ached for the poor, drunk idiot.

"Come on, buddy," Quinn said, shaking his shoulder.

Davy sighed and leaned on Quinn, his eyes closed.

"I'm sush a jerk," he said.

Quinn looked up at me and shrugged. "Davy's going to stay at the ranch tonight."

I smiled at him. "Thanks."

"No problem," he said, leaning Davy back against the truck again and then standing up. He took a cell phone from his pocket and tapped in a number. "Yeah, hey, Curt. Can you come down to the west gate and get the horses back to the barn? Thanks."

Quinn leaned against the bed of Davy's truck, took off his hat, and ran his fingers through his hair with a long sigh.

"Thanks for taking me on the tour of the ranch," I said. "I had a great time."

He smiled. "So did I. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. I was going to suggest you stay for dinner. I can grill up a mean steak."

"Looks like you've got company for tonight now," I said. "Do you want some help moving him?"

Quinn shook his head. "Nah, you don't have to do that. Here comes Curt now."

Curt was a tall, middle-aged cowboy wearing a flannel shirt over a worn Copenhagen T-shirt. Between the two men, they wrestled Davy into the passenger seat of the truck and rolled down the window, leaving his head hanging outside.

"He'll thank you for that," Curt said. "That bourbon's going to make an encore performance."

Quinn and I nodded and each took a step back in caution.

"Thanks, Curt," Quinn said, as the older man collected the horses, then led them back toward the barn. Quinn turned to me. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

"Davy?"

"He's not going anywhere," Quinn said, pulling the keys from the ignition and putting them in his pocket. "I'll make sure he's okay. You might want to tell Rob, just so he knows what's going on. I know he likes Davy."

"Yeah, I'll call him," I said, walking at Quinn's side toward the Golf Ball.

"Despite our uninvited guest, I had a wonderful time with you," Quinn said.

"Me, too," I said, stopping at the driver's side door.

"I hope to see you again soon," he said, opening the door for me.

I paused, waiting to see if he'd lean closer. His blue eyes sparkled, and his lips looked soft and inviting.

"You have a good night," he said.

"You, too," I said.

I started to climb in the car, but he stopped me. His hand at my elbow, then gently moving up to my shoulder, then my neck. I swallowed and licked my lips involuntarily. He smiled and leaned in.

And kissed my cheek.

My eyes were dry and burning from staring at my computer screen when I finally pushed away from my desk with a long sigh.

"Why so dramatic?" Sarah asked. She was kicking back with her feet on her desk, the expression on her face a smug reflection of someone who was done with her work for the day.

I, on the other hand, was only halfway through my second review of the financial records from Leonidis Development. Ever since my trip to Bishop Ranch, I'd had this unsettled feeling that I needed to recheck the numbers. Something wasn't adding up, but I still hadn't figured it out. And the way my eye was twitching, I wasn't going to figure it out today.

"There's something weird about the Leonidis company," I said, rubbing my forehead.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. Like how those kids all work for their dad and basically never moved out."

"Hey!" That struck a bit close to home. "And that's not what I meant."

"Sorry," Sarah said, stretching. "You're not working for your family. At least not yet."

She gave me a grin and nodded toward Rob's empty office. He had left early again, whistling as he headed out for another date with Aunt Marie. They were barely back from their weekend trip to the cabin and already were packing for a week in Hawaii. No one in the office could remember the last time Rob took an actual vacation. And the last time I remember Aunt Marie taking a long holiday, I think I was in junior high.

"I meant that the Leonidis development is making good money. Which is probably why the kids all keep working there. But all the expenses seem to be covered. I can't figure out why Leonidis is paying some company a quarter-million bucks a month. I don't think I have enough data," I blinked at my computer screen and then saved my spreadsheets and powered down the computer. "Got plans for tonight?"

I could use a margarita and knew I could talk Sarah into joining me. Unless she had a date, which was highly likely. The woman was a serial dater.

"Sorry, I've got plans."

Of course she did. Before I could ask about those plans, the phone rang, and we both paused, waiting to see if the other person would give in and answer it. Theresa, who normally handled the phones, had left early to pick up one of her grandchildren. At the third ring, I couldn't stand it and answered. I never won that game of chicken with Sarah, who was happy to let calls go to voicemail.

"Miranda, it's me, Kathryn."

"Oh, hey, Kathryn. I was just reviewing the records again," I said.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No, not really. I can see what you're talking about though. The company has all its expenses covered. What about old debts? Could there be an existing debt that Leonidis is paying off?"

"I thought of that, but I couldn't find anything. I haven't gone through the archives, but I suppose there could be something there."

"Where are those records kept? Can you get in there to look?"

In the moment before Kathryn answered, my mind wandered off to thoughts of the law firm's archives and how I could get in there to look at Quinn's file. I hadn't found an excuse to get out there yet, and now that I'd spent some time with him, I wasn't sure if I still wanted to snoop around in his past. Now it felt like prying.

"I don't know. Mr. Leonidis has been watching me like a hawk. I think he suspects that I'm doing something behind his back." Her voice sounded strained, and my heart went out to her.

"I understand," I said. "Don't worry. We'll keep looking through what we have, and Burton's trying to learn more about who is behind Acadia Street, Inc."

"Or you could look in the archives. I have a key. I could let you into the basement. No one ever goes down there, so it's not like anyone would see you," she said.

I frowned. "I don't know about that. I mean, I wouldn't even know where to look in the files."

Sarah took her feet off the desk and leaned forward in her chair, taking in my half of the conversation.

"I can tell you where the information most likely would be, but if Mr. Leonidis found me downstairs, he'd know something was up."

"If he found me there, he'd call the cops."

"He won't. I can keep him distracted upstairs."

The image of Kathryn and her boss rolling around on his big desk popped into my mind, and I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to rid my brain of the memory. "Not if you're going to distract him like last time. I mean, if I even agree to do this. Which I'm not convinced is a good idea."

Sarah raised her hands.

"Hold on, Kathryn." I hit the hold button and gave Sarah an exasperated wave. "She wants me to look in the company's basement for the evidence she hasn't found."

Sarah squinted, then nodded. "So you'd have permission to be there."

"I guess," I said, uneasy. Sarah had a moral flexibility that made her good at her job, but that was her. I was more comfortable well on the bright line of what was legal. "I'd feel better talking to Rob about this first."

"You get the details," Sarah said, picking up the phone on her desk. "I'll get the all-clear."

An hour later, I was sitting in my car waiting for Kathryn to let me into a side door at the Leonidis corporate office. My hands were freezing, and I was still unsure that sneaking into the basement archives was legal. Sarah assured me that she had told Rob everything, and he thought it was a great idea. I should have double-checked with Rob myself, but she was my best friend.

There were few cars left in the parking lot by the time I saw Kathryn open the side door and wave at me. I locked the Golf Ball and walked across the concrete to meet her. She ushered me into an alcove with stairs leading up to the second floor. It looked like an emergency exit. Kathryn swiped a card and opened a door that led to another flight of steps, these heading down. A fluorescent light flickered on.

"Take all the time you need, there's hardly anyone left in the office, and no one ever goes down there," she said. She handed me a hand-drawn map and pointed to a corner. "It's organized by year, so you should probably start here."

My footsteps echoed in the silent staircase as I descended into the basement. There was another door at the bottom of the steps, and I ignored the "authorized personnel only" sign and entered the dark and cold storage area. I found the light switch on the wall and heard the buzz of the lights seconds before they came to life.

In front of me were rows of shelves, each stacked with banker boxes and labeled. The more current ones in closer to the door, and I started there and began to work my way toward the corner opposite the door.

I tried to work fast in the eerie silence. The boxes were well organized, but dusty, and soon my nose was running, and my fingers were smudged with brown. I hurried through the last few boxes in the row then turned the corner to start on the prior years' records. Kathryn's map of the archives was helpful, and I made good progress.

I pulled a box off the middle shelf and opened the lid when the sound of footsteps on the stairs echoed into the basement. The heavy footfalls on the metal steps didn't sound like they'd be Kathryn's brown oxfords. I froze in place as I heard the door open.

I was three rows from the door, but if the person walked down the center row, my stealth research would certainly be discovered. Leaving the box on the floor, I slipped off my shoes and made my way to the end of the row, away from the center path that ran the length of the archives. It was a little darker there, and I might be able to sneak around the end of the shelving unit.

"Hello?" The sound of a man's deep voice bounced off the walls and reverberated around me. I sank to my knees at the end of the row. "Is anyone in here?"

Holding my breath, I peered around the corner in time to see a tall figure stride down the center of the room. Though I only caught a glimpse of him, I was fairly sure it was Milo Leonidis. He was looking straight ahead and walked directly to a shelf in the back. I tried to make myself as small as possible as I listened to Milo rummaging through boxes, cursing under his breath.

My nose itched, and I closed my eyes and tried to think of not sneezing. I pinched my nose and took a breath through my mouth. It wasn't working. The urge grew until my eyes were watering from the effort to suppress the sneeze. Or from the dust. It was everywhere. I slapped my hand over my mouth and nose until the sneeze passed.

I exhaled slowly and listened to Milo moving around the archives. I was fairly certain he was on the far side of the room, but it was hard to tell in the unfamiliar setting. I leaned around the corner to see if I could see him.

He was in the row, but on the other side of the center walkway and fortunately, he was facing away.

Oh, God, was he working his way toward me?

I picked up my shoes and crawled to the next row, closer to the door, and knelt on the cold cement floor. Rising up, I peered through the boxes and saw Milo starting to remove a box from the row I'd just left. If I'd stayed in place, he would have literally tripped over me.

A banging sounded from the stairs startled me, and I froze. So did Milo, but he quickly recovered and set a file folder on the top of a closed box, just as the door to the archives slammed open.

"What are you doing down here?" The newcomer's voice boomed through the basement.

"Father," Milo said. He stepped into the center walkway and I scooted around the corner to hide at the end of the row again. "I saw the light was on. Just making sure there was no one here."

A grunt, then more footsteps and I estimated that the two men were standing at the end of the row where I huddled in a shadow, trying to go unnoticed.

"Well, get back upstairs, the meeting isn't over."

"I have nothing to say to that man," Milo said.

"Get up there." Simon Leonidis snarled his response. "That man is the reason you have a job to go to in the morning and a house to return to in the evening."

The voices moved slightly toward the door, and I slid around the corner away from them. Rising up on my knees, I peered through the several inches of clearance between the top of the boxes and the bottom of the shelf.

"Your brother's worthless at keeping the customers happy," Simon grumped.

"He's not a customer. And if you want a hostess, you should have brought Ana," Milo said.

"Ana's a flake. She says she's coming, then she doesn't show up."

Milo gave a short laugh. "Yeah. I know. She's been like that since birth."

"Well, it's bad for business. You're going to take over this company one day, so get your ass up there, and act like it."

I moved, trying to see more, but my view was limited to the shadowy form of their silhouettes moving toward the door.

"This is bullshit," Milo muttered like a petulant teenager as he trailed behind his father.

"And stop being so high and mighty. This is someone you want to be friends with, not enemies."

With a click, the room was plunged into darkness, except for a faint aura near the door, which quickly disappeared when the two men left the basement. I sat in the dark and waited to hear the heavy footsteps going up the steps fade and the faint sound of another door slamming. Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone and used the faint light to navigate to where Milo had been working before he was interrupted by his father.

Feeling on top of the box, my fingers found the file folder, and I took it down and opened it. My makeshift flashlight illuminated the pages of a contract between Simon Leonidis and Alexi Leonidis for the assets owned by ALX Construction Co. for just under a hundred thousand dollars. Attached to the back of the contract was a list of the assets, including a dozen parcels of undeveloped land, some office equipment, and a company truck. The next document in the file was a list of ALX's liabilities, which totaled just over the amount that Simon agreed to pay for the company. So when Alexi closed his business, he made no profit and barely got out without having to declare bankruptcy.

I put the files back where I'd found them and put my shoes back on. I made my way to the door and let myself into the stairwell, listening for any sound from above. Knowing that Simon and Milo were in the building made me nervous, and I hadn't seen anything in the files that helped me put together the puzzle about the missing money.

The stairwell was empty, and I hurried to the top of the steps and out of the building, closing the doors behind me with barely a sound. The parking lot was empty except for several expensive sedans parked in the reserved spaces near the front door. I didn't see Kathryn's car and frowned. Had she abandoned me in the basement? What if Milo or Simon had caught me? And what were they arguing about? I was certainly no expert on family dynamics, but theirs sounded rather toxic. Their private conversation contrasted with the image they projected at the Quinn Ranch party—a proud father, close to his children, building a legacy for the next generation.

With shaking fingers, I fumbled with my keys and unlocked the driver's side door of the Golf Ball.

"Miranda?"

Kathryn's voice startled me, and my keys clattered to the pavement.

"Jesus! I thought you were gone," I said, my voice also trembling from the scare. I looked around the empty lot and saw Kathryn's car in a dark corner, away from the overhead lights.