So About the Money (9 page)

She sidestepped JC while he scribbled a note.

He followed her into the hallway. “I need a list of the properties he owns and financial information on each one. And the latest statements for Alejandro Montoya’s restaurant.”
 

Her jaw dropped. “Are you crazy? I can’t give you that.”

“Why not?” He returned her incredulous stare. “You’re not a lawyer. It’s not privileged information.”

“You and I
both
know it’s privileged. The ethics requirements of my license are very clear. No unauthorized disclosure of financial information.”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “I work corporate mergers and acquisitions in Seattle. Breathing a word about a transaction won’t just bring the deal to a screeching halt, it could bring the Securities and Exchange Commission down on me like the proverbial ton of bricks.”

She waved her free hand, indicating the entire office. “The same rules apply at Desert Accounting. And in case you missed the point, that means don’t bother asking anyone else here because they won’t tell you, either.”

“I’m trying to catch a murderer, not coddle a—” He bit off the remaining words.

She slammed a fist onto her hip. “A what? A bean counter?”

“Most people want to help the police.” Every line of his body reflected frustration. “I thought you wanted to find Marcy’s killer.”

“Wait a minute.” She punctuated her words with a pointed finger. “Are you saying Tim and Alex are officially suspects now? That’s insane.”

“If you think they’re so innocent, you shouldn’t mind giving me the financial information. If it clears them, I can move on.”

Everything JC did—showing up, the Spudnuts, playing nice—had just been a ploy to soften her up and get her talking, so he could slide in questions about Tim and Alex. Damn, but the man was infuriating. “How is their financial information remotely related to Marcy’s murder?”

“I need the information.” JC sounded impatient.

She turned and stalked toward the lobby. “You can move on to another suspect. Alex and Tim didn’t have anything to do with Marcy’s death.”

JC trailed her down the hallway. “What makes you so sure?”

“What makes
you
so sure they were involved?”

“What are you hiding?”

She glared at him over her shoulder. “Give me a freaking break. Tim and Alex aren’t like that. They couldn’t have killed her.”

“Not even to save their own asses?”

Shocked, she studied his face, but he’d gone to complete cop mode. His hard expression revealed nothing. “From what? As far as I know, the only laws Tim and Alex have ever broken involve speeding tickets.”

“At this stage of an investigation, the more innocent someone seems, the more suspicious I am.”

“First honest statement I’ve heard from you. Does that blanket condemnation include me?”

He didn’t move an eyelash.

Raising her chin, she kept her tone and gaze level, rigid self-control containing the seething inside her. “If you have evidence they’re involved in Marcy’s murder and have a financial motive, you’ll have no problem getting a judge to sign a warrant.”

Chapter Seven

Holly stormed into Desert Accounting’s lobby with JC right on her heels. The tension between them was as thick and impenetrable as the walls of Fort Knox. She made it three steps into the reception area before she patted her jacket pocket and stopped in her tracks.
 

He did a quick sidestep around her. “What are you doing now?”

“Damn it, JC. You made me forget my phone.”

Before he could say another word, she marched back to her office. She snatched up her cell and turned, ready to stomp back into the lobby.

Her common sense kicked in.
Whoa.
Chill out. Get your act together
.

She took a deep breath and braced her palms against the desk. Letting JC see how much he upset her would be a major strategic error.

In his current mood, he’d probably interpret it as a guilty conscience.

For whatever reason, he seemed determined to pin Marcy’s murder on her, Tim, or Alex. And even if he wasn’t doing something that ridiculous, as far as she could tell, he was headed down the wrong path.

Clearly, he wasn’t going to tell her anything about the investigation, so she’d have to figure out herself what he knew—or thought he knew. Which meant talking to the people he
should’ve
talked to. And since Tim Stevens was her client—as JC kept harping on—she had every reason in the world to stop in and talk to him.

So there, Mr. Super Sleuth Junior Cluemaster Detective
.

Once she had some answers, she could redirect JC’s investigation.
 

She felt better already.

The detective in question was doing his charming guy impression when she returned to the lobby. He leaned against the reception desk, flashing those damned dimples at Tracey. Normally the receptionist was the office mom—appointment-taker and excuse-maker. Tracey remembered the client’s names—and those of their spouses, children, grandchildren, and favorite hunting dog. Right now, she looked as if she’d climb over the counter separating her desk from the waiting area if JC merely crooked his finger in her direction. Phones were ringing, all the lines lit up, but Tracey looked like she’d never heard the phrase,
Answer the phone
.

JC’s body tightened enough for Holly to know he’d noticed her, but Tracey was still gazing longingly at the man, eating up the attention like she was seventeen instead of forty-seven.

Holly’s gaze drifted to JC’s long, lean body. What had six years’ experience done for him? He’d been her first love, but she wasn’t a kid any longer. Had it all been hormones and young lust? Before she could wonder what he looked like without the tailored shirt, she sent her drooling inner teenager to her room and locked the door.

“If I can interrupt?” she asked.

JC’s lips twitched at her ironic tone.

Tracey blinked. “What? Oh, Holly, are you leaving now?”

What gave her away? The briefcase or the coat? She nodded, ignoring JC. Slim hips resting against Tracey’s desk, he was giving Holly a slow inspection that seemed to remove her clothing piece by piece.

He was just doing it because he knew it irritated her.

“Have you seen my mother this morning?” she asked Tracey.

“Donna’s still at the Chamber of Commerce breakfast.”

JC’s dimples reappeared. “I can’t believe you’re back in Richland, working for your mom.”

Something she’d sworn she’d never do. She gave him a withering look. “A temporary arrangement.”

She hadn’t asked about his mother, a woman she’d adored during their college years, because it seemed hypocritical to mention Antheia when she was no longer involved with her son.

No, that wasn’t right. She wasn’t going to talk about Antheia because JC was using
her
mother as a putdown and she refused to use
his
mother that way.

The front door opened, saving Holly from round four with JC. Nicole Stevens entered and flashed a thousand-watt smile. “G’morning.”

“Hello, Nicole.” Tracey turned her attention from the detective to the swing-top floating around the petite blonde’s killer body. “That’s a darling outfit.”

“You like it? It’s a Lilly P.” Nicole beamed with pleasure. From her Manolo Blahnik shoes to her diamond-studded ears, Tim’s wife always projected an image of leisure and wealth. Extravagance seemed to be Nicole’s middle name. Holly was relieved
she
didn’t have to pay off the woman’s charge cards.

Nicole executed a model-worthy pivot on her stiletto heels, and set the blouse’s fabric in motion. “What do you think, Holly? Does it make me look big?”

Holly took in the innocent face Nicole presented. The comment felt like another of the woman’s subtle digs. Her size four, perfectly proportioned body made Holly feel like an awkward giant. “You look lovely.”

Nicole focused on the purse hanging from Holly’s shoulder. “Is that a Borgedorf?”

She instantly forgave Nicole for the “big” comment and swiveled the zebra-striped hobo so all three women could appreciate the details. “Isn’t it great? I found it last weekend.”

She left out the half-price detail.

“It’s modern and retro at the same time,” Tracey said approvingly.

JC rolled his eyes.

What did a guy know?

Finger tapping her tiny, pointed chin, Nicole studied the bag. “Isn’t that
last
year’s design?”

Way to kill the moment.

Nicole turned back to Tracey. Usually, Nicole looked like she belonged at a 1950s Junior League function, but from the current expression on her face,
Desperate Housewives
might be more appropriate. “Is Tim here?”

“I haven’t seen him,” Tracey said.

Strange. Tim’s Mercedes was in their shared parking lot. “Isn’t he in his office?” Holly asked.

Nicole’s glow dimmed. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

From the corner of her eye, Holly saw JC lock onto Tim Stevens’ wife like Alex’s bird dog after a pheasant.

Good.

She wasn’t exactly throwing the woman under the bus, but if JC focused on Nicole, he might get off Holly’s back about providing client financial information. As a bonus, talking to JC would keep Nicole out of the Stevens Ventures office long enough for Holly to talk to Tim—or at least to ask Brea where he was today.

“I’m headed over to Tri-Ag,” Holly told Tracey. “I probably won’t make it back before my two o’clock meeting. Please ask my mother to call me.”

JC coughed, as though covering a laugh. He pushed away from Tracey’s desk. “Could I have a word with you, Mrs. Stevens?”

Holly kept the smile off her face. Could she call them or what?
 

Most likely Nicole didn’t know enough about Tim’s business to tell JC anything, but he could have fun trying.

Of course, he
ought
to be out looking for the real killer.

Chapter Eight

Holly pushed through Desert Accounting’s front door, crossed the atrium, and entered the Stevens Ventures office. The Western men’s club decorating motif Tim had chosen always annoyed her, as if he’d missed the last forty years of women’s achievements. Masculine, desert-hued colors, leather and heavy oak furniture—it was all part of the über-conservative, wife-belongs-at-home nonsense she constantly battled on the east side of the Cascades.
 

The reception desk, which blocked access to the office interior, sat vacant. A light blinked on the phone console, but the office was strangely quiet.
 

“Brea?”

No answer.
 

She tapped her toe for thirty seconds, then decided the sensible thing to do was bypass reception and head straight to Tim’s office. High heels muffled by the thick carpet, she strode down the hall. She rounded the corner and ran smack into Lillian.
 

The payroll clerk rocked backward. Short, curly brown hair framed an expressive face, which quickly transformed from surprise to recognition. Lillian’s left hand extended, palm up. She brushed bent fingertips across the palm, saying, “Excuse me” in sign language.
 

“Sorry.” Holly brought her palm to her chest, moved it in small circles.
 

“I didn’t hear you,” Lillian signed. A smile smoothed the remaining tension from her face.
 

Holly rolled her eyes at the pun. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
 

Since Lillian shared an office with Marcy, she might actually be a better person to start the investigation with than Tim. Even if she couldn’t hear, Lillian was bound to know about Marcy’s routine. Holly signed, “Do you have time to talk about Marcy?”
 

The brunette stiffened, then subtly leaned away, as if distancing herself from the question.

The renewed tension surprised Holly. She thought the two women had gotten along. Before she could ask what was wrong, Lillian gestured at her watch and signed, “I have an appointment. We can talk later.”