Summer Rental (35 page)

“Yeah,” Ty said. “They’re short a bartender again, and God knows I can use the money, so I agreed to come in and cover lunch, then hang around ’til closing. Hey, maybe you and the girls could all come over later. They’re having a special drink promotion for some new citrus vodka. It probably tastes like crap, but the drinks are cheap.”

“Maybe,” Ellis said. “But we were wondering if we could use your computer. For research.”

“Sure,” Ty said, looking puzzled. “Come on in.”

The apartment was even smaller than it looked from the outside. The walls were knotty pine, the varnish blackened with age, and worn green-and-white checkerboard linoleum covered the floor of what was essentially an all-in-one living room, dining room, and kitchen. The kitchen consisted of an old white-painted Hoosier cupboard stocked with a mismatched assortment of plastic dishes; a two-burner stove; and a small, rust-spotted refrigerator.

“Welcome to my office,” Ty said, gesturing towards a stout oak kitchen table. A PC was set up on the table, and a metal, rolling office chair with cracked leatherette upholstery was pulled up to the makeshift desk. Nearby a rickety blue-painted bookshelf held an assortment of business books, magazines, and stacks of folders.

He leaned over, pressed a button on the computer’s monitor, and the screen lit up. “The printer’s right there,” he said, pointing to a small table doing double duty as end table and printer stand beside the lumpy two-seater sofa. “Anything else you need, just help yourself.”

“Thank you,” Madison said, pulling out the desk chair and seating herself.

Ellis walked out onto the deck with Ty.

“Wait,” he said, ducking back inside. When he came back, he held out a single key.

“Just lock up when you leave,” he said. “And keep it, if you want.”

Ellis raised an eyebrow.

“I already have a key to your place,” he said, with that slow grin. “Not that I’d use it without your permission, though.” He glanced back towards the apartment. “What’s going on with you guys? I thought you said Madison was pretty standoffish.”

“She was,” Ellis said. “But Madison is in real trouble. Her husband, back in Jersey, is some kind of criminal, and … well it’s too complicated to go into right now. But she’s trying to figure some stuff out, and I want to try to help her.”

“That’s nice,” Ty said absentmindedly. “So … listen. When can I see you again? Tonight? Any chance you might wait up for me after I get off work?”

“There’s a chance,” Ellis said lightly. “Text me when you’re leaving. And maybe I’ll see you at Caddie’s, depending on what we figure out about Madison’s situation.”

“We’re good now, right?” he asked, catching her hand in his.

“Very good,” she said. “Talk to you later.”

*   *   *

Madison was staring quizzically at the computer screen when Ellis rejoined her. “I figured out how to open his Internet browser, but now what?” she asked.

She saw Ellis’s look of surprise.

“I’m not really a computer person. I mean, I used one at work, but they had all kind of rules about using the computers for personal use. And as for my laptop at home? All I really use it for is to play online blackjack.”

“Okay, well, let’s go to the website for the
Philadelphia Inquirer,
” Ellis suggested. She leaned over Madison’s shoulder and started typing into the browser bar.

Madison quickly got up and yielded the chair to Ellis. She leaned eagerly over Ellis’s shoulder and watched as she navigated around the
Inquirer’s
website. “How do you spell your husband’s last name?”

“S-H-I-T,” Madison said, snickering, and then quickly supplying the correct spelling. Ellis typed the name into the site’s search bar, and waited for a moment.

“Here it is,” she said, tapping the screen.

“
CHERRY HILL BUSINESSMAN WANTED FOR QUESTIONING IN EMBEZZLEMENT SCHEME
,” the headline read.

“Oh my God,” Madison whispered as she read.

The story was over a week old.

Sources close to an investigation by local police have revealed that prominent Cherry Hill financial wiz Donald Shackleford has been implicated in an embezzlement scheme that may have drained millions of dollars from several of his client companies, including R.G. Prescott Insurers, also of Cherry Hill.

“So, you were right. The insurance company wasn’t the only client he ripped off,” Ellis said.

Attempts to contact Shackleford for comment have been unsuccessful, although neighbors in the upscale town house development where Shackleford lived with his second wife, Maryn, say neither he nor his wife has been seen in recent days. According to Shackleford’s company website, D. Shackleford & Assoc. provides accounting and investment services to a range of firms throughout the state. Investigators have begun contacting other companies that were clients of Shackleford in an effort to determine how widespread the alleged fraud may have been.

The rest of the newspaper story detailed Don Shackleford’s ties in the community and ended with a statement from his attorney saying he was confident any investigation would prove that the complaints against his client were baseless and not worthy of further comment.

Madison ran her hands through her hair and stared at the computer screen. “Can you find out if there have been any more recent stories?”

Ellis began typing into the search bar on the newspaper’s website, and a moment later, links to two stories appeared.

She clicked and started reading. “Here’s a piece that ran last Sunday,” she said.

“
EMBEZZLEMENT SUSPECT HAD TIES TO VICTIMIZED INSURANCE COMPANY
,” the headline read.

As forensic accountants try to piece together what local investigators characterize as an ever-widening probe into embezzlement claims against Cherry Hill financial wiz Donald Shackleford, investigators say they have also begun looking into the possibility that Shackleford’s wife, Maryn Vance Shackleford, 32, and her close associate, Adam Kuykendall, 33, of Camden, may also be involved in Shackleford’s alleged scheme to embezzle and defraud local firm R.G. Prescott Insurers of millions of dollars. Maryn Shackleford and Kuykendall were employed in “sensitive positions” at Prescott for the
past two years, and investigators believe they may have aided Don Shackleford’s criminal activities.

“What?” Madison shrieked. “They think I had something to do with this shit? Sensitive position? I was a claims processor, for God’s sake. Adam worked in accounting, but there’s no way he had anything to do with this mess. ‘Close associate’? Are these people freakin’ nuts? We’re not the thieves, Don is.”

“Calm down,” Ellis said, glancing at Madison. “It’s just a newspaper story. And you’ll notice none of the information has any kind of real attribution. ‘Sources said’? I’m sure these reporters are just fishing for a real story without knowing any of the facts.”

“Look at this!” Madison cried, flicking the computer screen. “Can you believe this?”

At least one R.G. Prescott employee, Tara Powers, 28, an account executive at the firm, characterized her former coworkers Maryn Shackleford and Adam Kuykendall as “shadowy types” who rarely mixed with others at the insurance company. Powers pointed out that Maryn Shackleford met her future husband while acting as personal assistant to the company’s president, R.G. “Robby” Prescott III, a position that gave her unlimited access to the company’s financial records.

“That bitch,” Madison screeched. “Shadowy types? Personal assistant? I filled in for Robby’s secretary one freakin’ day! That’s all. One freakin’ day. It happened to be the day I met Don, but what’s that got to do with anything? I had access to nothing—except Robby’s phone and an old copy of
People
magazine his real assistant left on top of her desk. And as for Tara being an account executive? Don’t make me laugh. She works in the file room. If I ever get my hands on the little slut…”

“What about this?” Ellis asked, pointing to the next paragraph in the story.

Sources say Maryn Shackleford left the company several months ago, and that Kuykendall abruptly resigned from his position yesterday. Investigators questioned Kuykendall the day he resigned from R.G. Prescott, but they have been unable to contact Maryn Shackleford, who they say abruptly disappeared from the area within the past ten days. The insurance company is offering a $10,000 reward for information leading to the whereabouts of Maryn Shackleford.

Madison pounded the desktop. “God! They’ve put out an APB on me. And a ten-thousand-dollar reward. For what? I didn’t do anything. I don’t know anything.”

“But this is your friend Adam, right? The one who tipped you off that auditors were looking at Don’s records?” Ellis asked.

“Yeahhh,” she said, looking perplexed. “But when we talked yesterday, he didn’t tell me he’d quit his job. In fact, he told me he’s been on vacation.”

“Why would the cops question Adam about Don’s embezzlement scheme?” Ellis asked.

“Maybe because he worked in the accounting department?” Madison said, looking perplexed. “I guess I’ll ask him that when he gets here tomorrow.”

Ellis’s stomach lurched. “Madison, um, did you tell him about the money you found in Don’s briefcase?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Sure? Why wouldn’t I tell him?”

“You don’t think he had anything to do with any of this, do you?”

“No!” she said. “Adam is, like, my best friend. He was my
only
friend in that office. All those backstabbing bitches I worked with treated me like
a pariah. You know, they didn’t even have a going-away lunch for me when I quit? Adam was different. I trusted him. My last day of work, he took me out to lunch, and we got hammered on tequila shooters. I never even went back to the office after lunch. I mean, what was the point?”

“Did you tell him where you’re staying?” Ellis inquired.

“He knows I’m in Nags Head. I didn’t give him the exact address, because to tell you the truth, I don’t even know it.”

“That might be just as well,” Ellis said. “I mean, I’m not saying anything against him, but maybe, just to be cautious … I mean, for one thing, there’s that ten-thousand-dollar reward. Adam knows what kind of car you drive, right?”

“Of course,” Madison said, getting impatient. “He also kinda knows where I’ve been staying. I told him it’s on South Virginia Dare. I told him the name of the house. Ebbtide. But I’m telling you, I know him. Adam wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She held up her cell phone. “I’ll call him right now, get this straightened out.”

Madison scrolled through her phone’s recent call log, punched in a number and waited.

“Adam? It’s me. Look, we need to talk. Call me right back, okay? This is really important.”

She closed the phone and looked at Ellis. “I know this guy, okay? He’s not like Don. He wants to help me.”

Ellis wasn’t totally convinced. But she didn’t want to make Madison any more anxious than she already was. “Okay,” she said finally. “We’ll just wait and see what happens, right?”

36

“What did you find out?” Julia demanded as soon as Ellis and Madison got back to Ebbtide. “Is there an APB out for Maryn?”

“Madison,” Dorie gently corrected her. “Remember, she likes Madison better.”

“Whatever,” Julia said, slapping the dining room tabletop with the palm of her hand. “Come on. Give.”

Ellis glanced at Madison, and she nodded.

“So…” Ellis began. “We may have a problem.”

She filled Dorie and Julia in on what they’d discovered from the newspaper stories.

“They’re offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward for me!” Madison blurted out. “Like I’m the criminal! Like I had anything to do with stealing that money.”

Ellis took a deep breath. “And there’s some question about her friend Adam. He told Maryn he’s on vacation, but the paper said he quit his job.”

Madison shook her head and frowned. “Adam can’t affo
rd to quit. He just bought a brand-new Camaro, back in the spring. And I know for a fact his credit cards are always maxed out. Bill collectors were always calling the office looking for him.”

Dorie looked horrified. “You think he’d turn you in for that ten-thousand-dollar reward?”

“No!” Madison exclaimed. “He’s my friend. He wouldn’t do that to me. There’s gotta be an explanation for all this. Look, probably the newspaper got it wrong about him quitting his job. There’s a woman at the office, Tara, I’m pretty sure she’s sleeping with Don. She’s the one telling the paper all these lies about me and Adam.”

Dorie and Julia exchanged a look.

“I think,” Ellis said, “maybe we should call the police. Just in case.”

“And tell them what?” Madison said heatedly. “Here’s the woman they’re looking for up in Jersey? The one who maybe helped her husband steal a couple million dollars?”

“If I was a cop, I’d lock your ass up in a heartbeat,” Julia said matter-of-factly. “And that’s before I knew you had a hundred grand hidden on the top shelf of your armoire.”

“Maybe we don’t call the police right away,” Dorie murmured.

“Okay,” Ellis said. “What do we do—to keep Madison safe until she can go home and clear her name?”

“Look,” Madison said, sounding braver than she looked. “Adam Kuykendall isn’t exactly Al Capone. He’s not even six feet tall, weighs maybe 160 pounds, soaking wet. He wears Coke-bottle glasses, and I happen to know he flunked out of community college. Twice. He’s not that scary and he’s really not that smart.”

“But from what you say, he’s in debt up to his eyeballs, and he’s definitely motivated,” Ellis reminded her. “That sounds like a scary combination to me. Plus, he knows where you’re staying.”

“I could leave,” Madison replied heatedly. “I will leave. As soon as I let Adam know what’s going on, I’m outta here.”

“That’s not necessary,” Dorie said. “If you say your friend
can be trusted, we believe you. We want you to stay. Right?” she said, glaring first at Julia, and then at Ellis.

“Right,” Ellis mumbled.

“I never said she should go in the first place,” Julia muttered.

37

Dinnertime. Julia stared into the refrigerator, studying its contents with a mixture of disdain and outright disgust. “Leftovers. A jar of marinara sauce. A package of chicken thighs. Since it’s my night to cook, I move that we go out for dinner tonight. My treat. All in favor?”