Holding the Dream (26 page)

“I've got some questions.” He sniffed the air. “Nothing like the smell of coffee brewing, is there? Even the poison down at the station house smells like heaven before you taste it. Why don't you sit down, Ms. Powell? I'll tell you again you can lawyer yourself up, but you're not going to need Mr. Templeton for what we have to talk about.”

“All right.” But she'd reserve judgment on calling Josh. She was not going to be lulled by small talk and paternal smiles. “What do you want?”

“Mr. De Witt showed you the report from his handwriting expert?”

“Yes. Last night.” She sat on the arm of the couch. It was the best she could do. “It said the signatures were copies. Someone duplicated my signature on the altered forms. Used my signature, my clients, my reputation.” She rose again when Byron came in with a tray. “I'm sorry,” she said quickly. “For the trouble, here.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” He slid easily into the well-mannered host. “How do you take your coffee, Mr. Bittle?”

“Just cream, thank you.”

“Detective.”

“The way it comes out of the pot.” He sampled the brew Byron offered him. “Now we're talking coffee. I was about to go over the progress of the investigation with Ms. Powell. I'm explaining that our conclusions jibe with those of your independent expert. At this point, indications are that she was set up to take the heat if the discrepancies were discovered. We're looking into other areas.”

“You mean other people,” Kate said, struggling not to clatter her cup in her saucer.

“I'm saying my investigation is moving along. I'd like to ask you if you have any idea who would focus on you as a scapegoat. There are a lot of accounts in the firm. Only those under your hand were touched.”

“If someone did this to damage me, I don't have a clue.”

“Maybe you were just convenient. The charges against your father made you prime, maybe gave someone an idea.”

“No one knew. I only found out myself shortly before the suspension.”

“Interesting. And how did you find out?”

Absently, she rubbed a finger over her temple as she explained.

“You have words with anybody? A tiff? A personality clash, maybe?”

“I didn't have a fight with anyone. Not everyone at the firm is a close friend and confidant, but we work well together.”

“No grudge matches, petty grievances?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” She set her coffee aside, nearly untasted. “Nancy in Billing and I squared off over a misplaced invoice during the April crunch. Tempers are high then. I think I snapped at Bill Feinstein for taking half my computer paper instead of going into stock himself.” She smiled a little. “He stuck three cases of it in my office to get back at me for that. Ms. Newman doesn't like me, but she doesn't like anyone but Mr. Bittle Senior.”

Bittle stared into his coffee. “Ms. Newman is efficient and a bit territorial.” He winced as Kusack busily made notes. “She's worked for me for twenty years.”

“I didn't mean she would do something like this.” Horrified, Kate sprang up. “I didn't mean that at all! I wouldn't accuse anyone. You might as well say Amanda Devin did it. She guards her lone female partner status like a hawk watching for vultures. Or—or Mike Lloyd in the mail room because he can't afford to go to college full time. Or Stu Cominsky because I wouldn't go out with him. Roger Thornhill because I did.”

“Lloyd and Cominsky and Thornhill,” Kusack muttered as he wrote, and Kate stopped her pacing.

“You write whatever you want to write in that little book of yours, but I'm not going to go around casting blame.” She lifted her chin, set it. “I know how it feels.”

“Ms. Powell.” Watching her, Kusack tapped his stubby pencil against his knee. “This is a police investigation. You're involved. Every member of your former firm is going to be
considered. It's a long process. With your cooperation it can be shortened.”

“I don't know anything,” she said stubbornly. “I don't know anyone who needed money that badly, or who would choose to implicate me in a crime. I do know I've already paid all I intend to pay for something I didn't do. If you want to ruin someone else's life, detective, you'll have to do it without me.”

“I appreciate your position, Ms. Powell. You're insulted, and I can't blame you. You do your job, do what's expected of you, and go the extra mile. You see what you've been aiming for swing just into reach, then you get kicked in the teeth.”

“That's a nice and very accurate summary. If I knew who did the kicking, I'd be the first to tell you. But I'm not going to put someone whose only crime was to irritate me into the position I've been in.”

“Think about it,” he suggested. “You've got a good brain. Once you set your mind to figuring it out, I have a hunch you'll come up with something.”

The detective rose, and Bittle followed his lead saying, “Before we go, Kate, I'd like another moment of your time. In private, if there's no objection.”

“All right. I—” She glanced at Byron.

“Perhaps you'd like to see the view, detective.” Byron gestured, then led the way to the deck doors. “Did I hear you say you had a dog?”

“Old Sadie. Ugly as homemade sin, but sweet as they come.” His voice faded away as Byron closed the doors.

“An apology isn't enough,” Bittle began without preamble. “Is far from enough.”

“I'm trying to be fair and understand the position you were in, Mr. Bittle. It's difficult. You watched me grow up. You know my family. You should have known me.”

“You're quite right.” He looked very old. Very old and very tired. “I've damaged my friendship with your uncle, a friendship that is very important to me.”

“Uncle Tommy doesn't hold grudges.”

“No, but I hurt one of his children, and that isn't easy for either of us to forget. I can tell you, for what it's worth, that none of us initially believed you would do anything criminal. We needed an explanation, and your reaction to the questions was, well, damning. Understandable now, under the circumstances, but then . . .”

“You didn't know about my father then, did you?”

“No. We learned about it later. There was a copy of a newspaper article in your office.”

“Oh.” As simple as that, she thought, and as stupid. She must have missed one when she'd stuffed them into her briefcase. “I see. That made it all look worse.”

“It clouded the issue. I should tell you that when Detective Kusack contacted me, I was immensely relieved, and not terribly surprised. I could never reconcile the woman I knew with one who would cheat.”

“But you reconciled it enough to suspend me,” she said, and heard the brittleness of her own voice.

“Yes. However much I regretted it, and however much I regret it now, I had no choice. I have called each of the partners and relayed this new information. We're meeting in an hour to discuss it. And to discuss the fact that we have an embezzler in our employ.”

He paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. “You're very young. It would be difficult for you to understand the dreams of a lifetime, and the way they change. At my age, you have to be very careful, very selective about dreams. You begin to become aware that each one may be your last. The firm has been mine for most of my life. I've nurtured it, sweated over it, brought my children into it.” He smiled a little. “An accounting firm doesn't seem like something anyone would dream over.”

“I understand.” She wanted to touch his arm, but couldn't.

“I thought you might. Its reputation is my reputation. Having it damaged in this way makes me realize how fragile even such a prosaic dream can be.”

She couldn't help but bend. “It's a good firm, Mr. Bittle. You made something solid there. The people who work for you work for you because you treat them well, because you make them part of the whole. That isn't really prosaic.”

“I'd like you to consider coming back. I realize that you may feel uncomfortable doing so until after this matter is fully resolved. However, Bittle and Associates would be very fortunate to have you back on board. As a full partner.”

When she didn't speak, he took a step toward her. “Kate, I don't know whether this will make matters worse or better between us, but I want you to know that this offer had already been discussed and voted on prior to this . . . this nightmare. You were unanimously approved.”

She had to ease herself back down on the arm of the chair. “You were going to make me a partner.”

“Marty nominated you. I hope you're aware that you always had his complete trust and support. Amanda seconded your nomination. Ah, I believe that was why she was so harsh when she believed you had taken the money from escrow. You'd earned the offer, Kate. I hope, once you've had time to think it over, you'll accept it.”

It was difficult to deal with despair and elation at once. Not long before she would have leapt at such an offer, seized it, hugged it to her. She opened her mouth, certain that acceptance would pop out.

“I do need some time.” She heard her own words with a kind of vague surprise. “I have to think it through.”

“Of course you do. Please, before you consider going elsewhere, give us a chance to negotiate.”

“Yes, I will.” She held out a hand, just as Byron and the detective returned. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

She was still dazed when she led Bittle and Detective Kusak out, said her good-byes. In silence she walked back into the house with Byron, stood staring at nothing.

“Well?” he prompted.

“He offered me a partnership.” She said each word slowly, unsure whether she was savoring them or weighing them.
“Not just to make up for all this. They'd already voted on it before everything got screwed up. He's willing to negotiate my terms.”

Byron angled his head. “Why aren't you smiling?”

“Huh?” She blinked, stared at him, then burst into laughter. “A partnership!” She threw her arms around his neck and let him swing her. “Byron, I can't tell you what this means to me. I'm too dazzled to tell myself. It's like—it's like being cut from the minors, then being signed to bat cleanup for the Yankees.”

“The Braves,” he corrected, home team loyal to the last. “Congratulations. I think we should have mimosas with that French toast.”

“Let's.” She kissed him hard. “And go light on the OJ.”

“A dollop for color,” he assured her, as they walked into the kitchen arm in arm. He released her to get champagne out of the refrigerator. “Well, aren't you going to pick up the phone?”

She opened the glass-fronted cabinet that held his wine glasses. “The phone?”

“To call your family?”

“Uh-uh. This is too big for the phone. As soon as we eat—” she grinned foolishly at the pop of the cork— “I'm going to Templeton House. This requires the personal touch. It's the perfect way to send Aunt Susie and Uncle Tommy back to France.” The minute he'd finished pouring she lifted her glass. “Here's to the IRS.”

He hissed through his teeth. “Do we have to?”

“Okay, what the hell. Here's to me.” She drank, twirled once, then drank again. “You'll come with me, won't you? We'll get Mrs. Williamson to make one of her incredible dinners. We'll take the dogs, too. We can— What are you looking at?”

“You. I like seeing you happy.”

“Get that French toast going and you'll see me ecstatic. I'm starving.”

“Give the master room, please.” He took out eggs and milk.
“Why don't we swing by your apartment and pick up a few more of your things? We can extend our celebration by having you stay another night.”

“Okay.” She was too high to think of objecting, though it broke her unspoken rule of staying more than two nights running. “I'll get it,” she said when the phone rang. “You keep cooking. And use lots of cinnamon. Hello? Laura, hi. I was just thinking about you.” Grinning, she swung over to nip at Byron's ear as he whisked. “We were going to come over later and invite ourselves to dinner. I have some news that I—What?”

She fell into silence and the hand she'd lifted to mess with Byron's hair dropped back to her side. “When? At the—yes. Oh, God. Oh, God. Okay, we'll be right there. We're on our way. It's Margo,” she said, fumbling to disconnect the portable phone. “Josh took her to the hospital.”

“The baby?”

“I don't know. I just don't know. It's too early for the baby. She had pain, and some bleeding. Oh, God, Byron.”

“Come on.” He clasped the hand that reached for his. “Let's go.”

She was grateful that it was Byron behind the wheel. No matter how she ordered herself to be calm, she knew her hands would have trembled. Flashes of Margo ran through her head.

There were images of them as children, sitting on the cliffs, tossing flowers out to the sea and Seraphina. Margo parading around the bedroom in her first bra, smug and curvy while Kate and Laura looked on in flat-chested envy. Margo curling Kate's hair for the junior prom, then slipping a condom into Kate's bag—just in case.

Margo on her first visit home after running off to Hollywood to become a star. So polished and beautiful. Margo in Paris after she'd nagged Kate to come over and see the world as it was meant to be.

Margo at Templeton House—always back to Templeton House.

In despair after her world had crumbled, in fury when one of her friends was hurt. The determination and glassy bravado as she'd fought to rebuild her life.

As a bride walking down the aisle to Josh, so outrageously lovely in miles of white satin and French lace. Weeping as she rushed into the shop to announce she didn't have the flu but was pregnant. Weeping again when she felt the baby quicken. And cooing over the tiny clothes her mother was already sewing. Showing off her bulging belly, beaming when it rippled with a kick.

Margo, always so passionate, so impulsive, and so thrilled with the idea of having a baby.

The baby. Kate squeezed her eyes tight. Oh, God, the baby.

“She doesn't want to know if it's a girl or a boy,” Kate murmured. “She said they want to be surprised. They have names picked out. Suzanna if it's a girl, for Aunt Susie and Annie, and John Thomas if it's a boy, for Margo's father and Uncle Tommy. Oh, Byron, what if—”

“Don't think about ‘what ifs.' Just hold on.” He took his hand off the gearshift long enough to squeeze hers.

“I'm trying.” Just as she tried to block the shudder when he pulled into the parking lot in front of the tall white building. “Let's hurry.”

She was quaking when they reached the door. Byron pulled her back, studied her face. “I can go and find out what's going on. You don't have to go in.”

“Yes, I do. I can handle it.”

“I know you can.” He linked his fingers with hers.

Margo was in the maternity wing. As she hurried down the corridor, Kate blocked out the sounds and smells of hospital. At least this wing had familiar and good memories. Laura's babies. The rush and thrill of being a part of those births soothed away the worst edge of panic, urged Kate to remember what it was like to watch life fight its way into existence.

And to tell herself that this place was one of birth, not death.

The first face she saw was Laura's.

“I've been watching for you.” Laura wrapped her arms around Kate in relief. “Everybody's here, in the waiting room. Josh is with Margo.”

“What's going on? Is she all right? The baby?”

“Everything's all right as far as we know.” Laura led her toward the waiting area and struggled to maintain the pretense of calm. “Apparently she went into premature labor, and she was hemorrhaging.”

“Oh, my God.”

“They've stopped the bleeding. They've stopped it.” Laura took a slow breath to steady herself, but her eyes mirrored her inner fears. “Annie was just in to see her. She says Margo's holding her own. They're trying to stabilize her, stop the labor.”

“It's too early, isn't it? She's only in her seventh month.” Kate stepped into the waiting area, saw worried faces, and ruthlessly smothered her own fears. “Annie.” Kate caught both the woman's hands in hers. “She'll be all right. You know how strong and stubborn she is.”

“She looked so small in the bed in there.” Ann's voice broke. “Like a little girl. She's too pale. They should do something for her. She's too pale.”

“Annie, we need coffee.” Susan slid an arm around her shoulders. “Why don't you help me get some?” After stroking a hand down Kate's arm, she led Annie away.

“Susie will take care of her,” Thomas murmured. He often thought there was too little for a man to do at such a time, and too much for him to imagine. “Now sit down, Katie girl. You're too pale yourself.”

“I want to see her.” The walls were closing in already, thick with the scent of fear that meant hospital to her. “Uncle Tommy, you'll make them let me see her.”

“Of course I will.” He kissed her cheek, then shook his head at his daughter. “No, you stay here. I'll check on the girls while I'm at it. Though you should know they'll be fine down in day care.”

“They're worried. Ali especially. She adores Margo.”

“I'll tend to them. I'm leaving all my women in your hands, Byron.”

“I'll take care of them. Sit down,” he murmured and nudged both of them to a couch. “I'll help your mother and
Ann with the coffee.” He saw their hands link before he turned away.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Kate asked.

“Josh called from his car phone. He didn't want to take time to call an ambulance. He was trying to sound calm, but I could tell he was panicked. He said she'd been feeling tired and a little achy after last night. When they got up this morning, she wasn't feeling well, complained of back pain.”

“She's been working too hard. All that prep for the auction. We should have postponed it this year.” I should have pulled more weight, Kate thought.

“Everything was fine at her last checkup,” Laura put in, rubbing her brow. “But you may be right. She said she was going to take a shower, then she started shouting for him. She was bleeding and having contractions. By the time we got here, they'd admitted her. I haven't seen her yet.”

“They'll let us see her.”

“Damn right they will.” Laura took the coffee Byron offered, remembering to thank him.

“The waiting's hell.” He sat beside Kate. “It always is. My sister Meg had a bad time with her first. Thirty-hour labor, which translates to the rest of your life when you're pacing.”

Just talk, he ordered himself. Just talk and give them something else to focus on. “Abigail was a hefty nine pounds, and Meg swore she'd never have another. Went on to have two more.”

“It was so easy for me,” Laura murmured. “Nine hours for Ali, only five for Kayla. They just sort of slid out.”

“Selective memory,” Kate corrected. “I distinctly remember you breaking all the bones in my hand while we were in the birthing room. That was Ali. And with Kayla, you—”

She sprang to her feet when a nurse stopped in the doorway. She stepped over the coffee table, prepped for battle. “We want to see Margo Templeton. Now.”

“So I've been informed,” the nurse said dryly. “Mrs. Templeton would like to see you. You'll have to keep it short. This way, please.”

She led the way down a wide corridor. Kate blocked out the hospital sound of crepe-soled shoes slapping on linoleum. There were so many doors, she thought. White doors, all closed. So many people inside them. Beds with curtains around them. Machines beeped and hissed inside. Tubes and needles. Doctors with sad, tired eyes who came to tell you your parents had died, gone away. Left you alone.

“Kate.” Laura soothed the hand that gripped hers.

“I'm okay.” She ordered herself to stay in the now and relaxed her grip. “Don't worry.”

The nurse opened the door, and there was the room. It was designed to be comforting, cheerful. A room to welcome new life. A rocking chair, warm ivory walls with dark trim, thriving plants and the quiet strains of a Chopin sonata were all pieces of the serene whole.

But the machine was there, beeping, and the rolling stool that doctors used, and the bed with its guarded sides and stiff white sheets.

Margo lay in it, glassily pale, her glorious hair pulled back. A few loose tendrils curled damply around her face. The bag hanging from the IV stand beside the bed dripped clear liquid down a tube and into her. She had one hand pressed protectively to her belly, the other in Josh's.

“There you are.” Margo's lips curved as she gave her husband's hand a reassuring squeeze. “Take a break, Josh. Go ahead.” She rubbed their joined hands over her cheek. “This is girl talk.”

He hesitated, obviously torn between doing what she wanted and being more than a step away from her. “I'll be right outside.” He lowered his head to kiss her, and his hand brushed over the bulge of her belly. “Don't forget your breathing.”

“I've been breathing for years. I've almost got it down pat now. Go on out and pace like an expectant father.”

“We'll make her behave,” Laura assured him. She sat on the edge of the bed and patted his thigh.

“I'll be right outside,” he repeated, and waited until he was
in the hall to rub unsteady hands over his face.

“He's scared,” Margo murmured. “You hardly ever see Josh scared. But it's going to be all right.”

“Of course it is,” Laura agreed and glanced at the fetal monitor that beeped away the baby's heartbeats.

“No, I mean it. I'm not messing this up. My timing's off, that's all.” She looked at Kate. “I guess this is the first time in my life I've been early for anything.”

“Oh, I don't know.” Striving for the same light tone, Kate eased down on the side of the bed opposite from Laura. “You developed early.”

Margo snorted. “True. Oh, here comes one,” she said in a shaky voice and began to breathe slowly through the contraction. Instinctively Kate took her hand and breathed through it with her.

“They're very mild,” Margo managed. “There's something in there that's supposed to be slowing them down.” She flicked a glance toward the IV. “They'd hoped to stop them altogether, but it looks like the kid wants out. Seven weeks too early. Oh, God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Fear circled back no matter how hard she focused on willing it away. “I should have taken more naps. I should have stayed off my feet more. I—”

“Stop that,” Kate snapped. “This is no time to feel sorry for yourself.”

“Actually, labor's the perfect time for self-pity.” Remembering her own, Laura stroked Margo's belly to bring comfort. “But not for blame. You've taken good care of yourself and the baby.”

“Milked it for all it was worth.” Kate arched a brow. “How many times did I have to run up and down the stairs at the shop because you were pregnant and I wasn't?” She wanted to weep, promised herself a nice long crying jag later. “And those cravings in the afternoons so I had to go over to Fisherman's Wharf and get you frozen strawberry yogurt with chocolate sauce? Do you think I bought that?”

“You bought the yogurt,” Margo pointed out. “Actually, I wouldn't mind having some now.”

“Forget it. You can chew your chipped ice.”

“I'm going to do this right.” Margo took a deep breath. “I know the doctor's worried. Josh is worried. And Mum. But I'm going to do this right. You know I can.”

“Of course you can,” Laura murmured. “This hospital has one of the best birthing wings in the country. They take marvelous care of preemies. I was on the committee that helped raise funds for new equipment, remember?”

“Who can remember all the committees you were on?” Kate commented. “You'll do fine, Margo. Nobody focuses on what they want and how to get it better than you.”

“I want this baby. I thought I could will the labor away, but well, apparently the kid takes after me already. It's going to be today.” Her lips trembled again. “It's so small.”

“And tough,” Kate added.

“Yeah.” Margo managed a genuine smile. “Tough. The doctor's still hoping they can stop the labor, but it's not going to happen. I know it's today. You understand?” she asked Laura.

“Absolutely.”

“And he's being snotty about delivery. Just Josh. I wanted you to be there. Both of you. I just had this image of a big, noisy, bawdy event.”

“We'll have one after.” Kate leaned down to kiss her cheek. “That's a promise.”

“Okay. Okay.” Margo closed her eyes and dealt with the next contraction.

“She's strong,” Laura said to Kate as they walked back down the corridor.

“I know. But I don't like to see her scared.”

“If the drip doesn't stop labor, she'll be too busy to be scared much longer. All we can do is wait.”

Wait they did, as one hour passed into two. Restless, Kate paced the room, walked out to badger the nurses, drank too much coffee.

“Eat,” Byron ordered and handed her a sandwich.

“What is it?”

“Any time a sandwich comes out of a vending machine, you don't ask what it is, you just eat it.”

“Okay.” She took a bite, thought it might have something to do with chicken salad. “It's taking so long.”

“Barely three hours,” he corrected. “Miracles take time.”

“I guess.” Considering it necessary fuel, she took another bite of the sandwich. “We should be in there with her. It would be better if we were with her.”

“It's hard to wait. Harder for some.” He combed his fingers through her hair. “We could take a walk outside, get you out of here for a while.”

“No, I'm okay.” She damn well would be. “It's easier concentrating on Margo than thinking about where I am. Phobias are so . . .”

“Human?”

“Dumb,” she decided. “It was a horrible night in my life. The worst I'll ever have to go through, I imagine. But it was twenty years ago.” It was yesterday if she let her mind drift. “Anyway, I handled the hospital both times Laura had kids. Maybe that was easier because I was in on it, and labor really keeps you busy. But this is the same thing. I want to be here.”

Linking his fingers with hers, he tugged her into the moment. “You pulling for a boy or a girl?”

“I hadn't thought of it. How—how big does a baby have to be to have a good shot?”