Blind Trust (5 page)

If Peter knew Dad, maybe he knew what really happened. Her heart somersaulted at the thought. Just when she'd finally scrounged up the courage to search out the answer, she'd avoided the one person who might have it.

She sprang to her feet.

Tess caught her arm. “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry. I have to go. I just remembered somewhere I need to be.” If Peter tried to contact her again, it would be at her home. And this time she wanted to be there.

“But . . .” Tess's gaze trailed to her father before veering back to Kate. “Tom didn't want you to go home alone.”

“That's because I was upset, but I'm fine now.” Kate gave her a hug. “Thanks so much for inviting me. It's been fun.”

Tess wavered. “You're sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine.”

Ten minutes later, as Kate pulled her yellow Bug into Daisy's driveway—her driveway now—a smidge of that confidence slipped. She glanced around the neighborhood and her stomach flip-flopped.
Get over it already
. It's not as if you're ten years old
anymore and going to shatter over being called names. What
is there really to be afraid of?

Even if Peter threatened to expose her secret, would it really be that bad?

The image of Mom's haunted expression flared before Kate's eyes as her “no one can ever know” whispered through her mind. Kate shook the voice from her head and snatched her keys from the ignition.
Know what
?
That's what she wanted to know. She'd kept her head down for too long already.

Brian Nagy's red sports car sat in Verna's driveway next door.

Kate hitched her purse up her shoulder, digging her fingers into the strap. The pleasant August afternoon suddenly felt a little too sticky. Brian never came by two days in a row. Something must be wrong with Verna again. He might need help. Kate strode toward Verna's house.

At the property edge her step faltered. What if Brian was there to get rid of evidence?

She should call Tom. He was probably looking for Brian right now to question him about his visit to the hardware store. Kate turned back and dug her phone from her purse. Except . . .

What if Brian
was
here because Verna had taken another bad turn? Tom showing up again would only upset her more.

Phone in hand, Kate eyeballed Verna's front door. She could pop over on the pretense of checking on Verna like any good neighbor would. If she happened to notice Brian up to no good, then she could call Tom. She zipped her phone in her purse and strode to Verna's door before she could change her mind a second time.

“Come in,” Verna called at Kate's knock, sounding as chipper as ever.

Kate's heart thumped an erratic beat. Where was Brian?

She let herself in, cocking an ear toward the basement for
any telltale sounds. She might be able to warn Tom before Brian even knew she was here.

Verna was pushing herself up from her recliner as Kate poked her head into the living room.

“Oh, it's you, dear.” Verna relaxed her arms and let herself drop back into the chair.

“How are you feeling today?” Kate hovered at the doorway where she could keep both the basement stairs and the hallway leading to the bedrooms in view. A spicy aroma hung in the air. Verna must've been baking.

The woman made a so-so gesture. “Water's giving me trouble.”

“Water?”

Brian suddenly materialized in the hallway, a monkey wrench in hand, undisguised irritation creasing his face. “Oh, it's you.” The lines slashing his brow rearranged themselves into a semblance of . . . gratitude? “I want to thank you. My son told me how you settled Mother down yesterday during one of her episodes.”

“Episodes? This has happened before?”

“Unfortunately.” He bent down and pulled a P-trap from a small paper bag. That must've been what Verna had meant about her water and what Brian had been at the hardware store to buy. “But don't worry, she's signed a power of attorney granting me the right to act on her behalf. I'm going to make sure she gets the help she needs, whether she wants it or not.”

Behind Kate, Verna let out a soft humph.

Kate's heart ached at the thought of Verna being put into a home, but after yesterday, she had to agree that the dear needed some kind of help. “I imagine that'll take some time.”

Brian lowered his voice. “She's been on the waiting list for
a while. But between the counterfeit money swindle and now this, they can't help but see how necessary it's become.”

At the mention of the counterfeit money, Kate's thoughts whirled back to her earlier suspicions. Was Brian overreacting to Verna's “episode” to divert suspicion from the family? Was he the one running a counterfeit operation and using his mother as a front? “What if she still refuses to go?”

“I'd have to apply for guardianship. I was hoping I could count on you to testify to her need for care . . . if I have a problem, I mean.”

“Oh, I don't think I . . .” Wringing her hands, Kate glanced into the front room where Verna still sat. “I couldn't do that to her.”

Brian stepped closer, the monkey wrench still clutched in his hand. “But now that you've seen how she gets, how can you not?” His knuckles whitened, and he seemed to be straining to keep his voice even. “She's not safe. I only want what's best for her.”

“I'm sure you do.” Kate backed up a step and shifted from one foot to the other. His concern seemed genuine, but that didn't stop her insides from zigzagging up and down like a roller coaster. “I'm sorry. I don't feel comfortable doing that. I'd feel like I was betraying our friendship.”

“You've only lived here a few weeks,” he argued.

“Exactly. So who am I to comment on her condition?” She wiped the ridiculous sweat from her palm on the side of her purse. “Couldn't you hire someone to live in?”

“I have. Lucetta agreed to stay with Mom until a room opens up at the home in town.”

Kate swallowed her gasp, but not soon enough.

“What's wrong?”

“Um . . . Nothing, except . . . It's just . . . I was thinking
more of someone trained as a caregiver.” Lucetta had already sold the tea set. Kate cringed to think what other ways she might take advantage of Verna's generosity. “I'm sure they'll get along okay.” Kate bit her lip. If Verna were her mother, she'd want to know what Lucetta had done, but “loose lips sink ships,” as her grandmother used to say, and between the birthday party and the excursion to the hardware store, she hadn't gotten the chance to ask Tom if he'd questioned Lucetta yet. “She'll stay at the house?”

“Yes, aside from trips to the store and such, she'll be around all the time.” He motioned toward the hall. “She's in making up the spare room for herself now.”

Outside a car door slammed.

Brian glanced out the screen door. “Isn't that the police officer who was here yesterday? What's he want?” Brian shoved open the door and stepped onto the porch, his monkey wrench still gripped in a stranglehold.

Kate watched from inside the screen door. Tom acknowledged her with a stiff nod, clearly not happy to see her there.

“Afternoon,” he said to Brian. “I need to ask you a few questions. May I come in?”

“What's this about?” Brian's tone grew unmistakably defensive.

Tom shot a pointed look at a curious neighbor watching the exchange from across the street. “Do you really want to talk out here?”

Brian jerked open the screen door. “Come in.”

A woman's yelp, accompanied by the splash of water, broke the strained tension.

Brian stormed down the hall in a rant. Judging from the colorful Spanish words countering Brian's, Lucetta must've turned on a tap she shouldn't have.

Tom's fingers circled Kate's arm. “I need you to go home.”

“But—”

“This is a police matter.”

She closed her mouth, more hurt than shocked that he'd exclude her now.

“You have to live beside these people. I don't want to risk your presence affecting their attitude toward you. Okay?”

His genuine concern brought to mind his whispered promise at the birthday party—
I wouldn't let you fall
—and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You're right, of course.”

But Lucetta appeared in the entranceway before she had a chance to escape. “Mr. Nagy say to make yourselves comfortable in the living room with Mrs. Nagy. He be back in a minute.” She swiped at her damp pants with a hand towel as she turned away.

“Wait a minute.” Tom introduced himself as Detective Parker. “Actually, I'd like to ask you a few questions if you have a moment.”

The woman's gaze darted to the living room and back to them. “Me?”

“Excuse me.” Kate moved past Lucetta and into the living room to give them some privacy. Well . . . to let them think she was giving them privacy. Verna had fallen asleep in her recliner, and since Brian was apparently fixing a water pipe, Kate hovered near the door where she could eavesdrop on the interrogation.

To her surprise, Tom started by asking Lucetta about Verna. “Has she started any new medication that might explain the change in behavior?”

“No, señor, but Mr. Nagy, he's worried she's losing her memory.”

“I believe I saw you purchase a tea yesterday afternoon that is supposed to help with that. Has it?”

“Not so I've noticed. But I hope so soon. I don't want her to go away.” Lucetta twisted the strings of her apron. “I need the work.”

Kate couldn't see Tom from her vantage point, but she could imagine him nodding in that encouraging way he had that was so effective at drawing people out.

“I understand Mrs. Nagy gave you her tea set?” Tom said in a conciliatory tone.

“Yes.” Lucetta's response was so soft, Kate scarcely heard it.

Tom didn't ask another question, and his silence seemed to make Lucetta even more nervous.

After a long moment, she added, “I didn't ask for it. I admired it, and she said I could have.” Lucetta didn't lift her gaze from the floor.

“You admired it so much you had your nephew sell it?” Tom asked.

That drew Lucetta's gaze up. Her cheeks reddened. “You don't understand, señor. Where I come from, my people are very poor. Each month I send as much money to my brothers and sisters as I can.”

“Have you sold anything else of Mrs. Nagy's?” Tom asked.

Lucetta hung her head. “Nothing. Please don't tell her I sold. I need this job.”

“Your nephew made change on the payment with a counterfeit bill. Do you know how he might have gotten it?”

Lucetta's face paled. “No, señor. I don't.”

Kate couldn't see her eyes, but her voice sounded frightened. Was she covering up for her nephew, herself, or—Brian stormed down the hall—maybe her boss?

The sun had just dipped behind the houses as Tom pulled out of the Nagy driveway half an hour after Kate excused herself from her neighbor's home. When he didn't pull into her place, she dialed his cell phone.

“You're leaving?” Kate let her disappointment sound in her voice.

“I got the impression you wouldn't want to see me.”

She fell into the sound of his warm chuckle, but his brake lights didn't tap on. When it became clear he wasn't turning around, she let the curtain fall back into place. “I
wanted
to know if my neighbor's son or housekeeper is guilty of counterfeiting.”

“That makes two of us. But I honestly don't know.”

“You must have a suspicion.”

“Brian claims he supplies his mother with eight fifty-dollar bills from her pension check at the start of each month. She could have gotten the smaller bills as change from anyone from the paperboy to the grocery clerk.” He sighed, sounding utterly drained. “Lock your door and get some rest. I have some
apologizing to do to my nephews for bailing on their party. We'll talk after church tomorrow.”

“Wait. Did you talk to Peter?”

“I haven't tracked him down yet. But don't worry, I'll let you know when I do.”

At the sound of a car pulling to the curb outside her house, she smiled and swept back the curtains. A silver Ford Escort parked in front of her neighbor's house across the street.

Tamping down her silly disappointment that it wasn't Tom, she grabbed the phone book. She could do better than wait for Tom to find Peter. She'd call every hotel in the Niagara region if need be. She was through waiting for another one of Peter's creepy calls. She'd find out what he knew once and for all.

Tom slipped past the ushers at the back of the church and scanned the pews. Half the people sat quietly listening to the pianist playing a medley of praise songs. The others were hugging and visiting and still finding their way to seats. His sister and her husband had taken their overactive twins to the balcony, while Dad sat up front with Lorna for the third week in a row. As weird as seeing his dad sitting with someone else less than a year since Mom's death felt, Tom was happy to see him embracing life again.

The worship team assembled on stage, and the congregants still standing hustled to their seats. But there was no sign of Kate. Tom scanned every row again. It wasn't like her to be late.

Verna Nagy, flanked by her son and grandson, ambled down the center aisle pushing a walker. Not a sight he'd expected.

He hadn't been able to confirm Julie's aspersion about Brian's
gambling debts, but apparently his ex-wife had cleaned him out. He'd gone from living in a nice bungalow to crashing in a dinky apartment on the outskirts of town. And his colorful description of his former bride would draw lightning bolts if repeated in church. Yet when Tom asked Nagy about his purchase at the hardware store, he hadn't betrayed a hint of guilt.

If he was the one who passed the bum bill, Lucetta or her nephew had most likely stuck him with it. Tom had confirmed her story about her poor relatives, which was all the more motive for
making
extra money by any means she could, including laundering counterfeit cash.

Since she occasionally picked up Verna's groceries, she could've easily slipped Verna counterfeit bills as change and kept the real change for herself. Then Verna could have inadvertently turned around and given those bills to the ladies' missionary circle or to Kate. Mrs. C had been reluctant to tell him who might have donated the counterfeit bills she'd found in the donation bucket, but she confirmed that Verna, along with a dozen other ladies, made regular contributions.

Since Lucetta got edgy when he mentioned her nephew, Tom suspected one or both of them were behind the scam. Either that or she was terrified of being deported.

Her nephew wasn't at the address she'd given him. Probably out with friends, she'd said. Didn't matter. He knew where to find the kid Monday morning. If the kid didn't show up for work, chances were his aunt had warned him to lie low.

And Tom could make short work of wrapping up this case.

Lyrics appeared on the screen behind the platform, and a couple of guitars, a keyboard, and a bass guitar joined the piano. Tom edged past the latecomers and checked the foyer for Kate, then the parking lot. He hadn't managed to track
down Peter, even with the grainy image he'd lifted from the hardware store's surveillance video. What if he'd found Kate?

The possibility sent Tom striding toward his car, his heart in his throat.

Ten minutes later he swerved into her driveway. The curtains were drawn, the neighborhood quiet. Her yellow VW Bug didn't appear to have been moved since yesterday. But it wasn't like Kate to skip church. Unless . . .

Had she been worried that everyone would be whispering about the incident at the grocery store? She had to know that her church family wouldn't believe she'd knowingly try to pass off counterfeit cash.

He knocked on the door. After a minute, he pounded harder. The sun blazed through the trees, painting the street in mottled shadows.

“She could be in the shower,” he said aloud, telling himself not to overreact like he'd done Friday. Or she could be in the basement throwing in a load of laundry or listening to music through her earbuds. He walked around to the kitchen door and knocked.

No response.

He cupped his eyes with his hands and peered through the glass. Was that a foot poking past the island that separated the kitchen from the breakfast nook?

He rapped the door again and slid it open at the same time. The foot disappeared behind the counter. A muffled sob made his heart stop. “Kate?” He rushed across the room and found her huddled against a cupboard, cradling a broken mug, tears streaking her face.

Hunkering next to her, he gently swept back her hair. “What's wrong?” His heart cracked at the pain in her eyes.

“I don't know what's the matter with me. I . . .” She looked at the porcelain shard in her hand. Bold letters proclaimed, “To the World's Greatest Friend.” “I gave this to Daisy for her last birthday.” Fresh tears sprang from her eyes. “I dropped it. How could I let her down like this?”

He eased the mug from her hand and then folded her into his arms. “You didn't let Daisy down. You solved a murder the rest of us didn't even believe had been committed.” As Kate's tears soaked through his shirt, he faced the uncomfortable truth that he was the one she should be blaming. If he'd done his job right from the beginning, they might have had the evidence to ensure Molly's conviction. “I'm sorry you've lost your friend. So very sorry.”

She lifted her cheek from his shoulder and patted the damp fabric. “It's been almost three months. I shouldn't still be crying like this.”

He stroked her hair and offered an understanding smile. “You're grieving. And right now, grief is your friend. The best thing you can do to get through this is to let it take you wherever it leads.”

“I feel like I'm losing my mind.”

“Yeah, that's pretty normal.”

She tilted her head and peered at him through moisture-rimmed eyes. “Is that how you felt after your friend died?”

The question hit him like a blow to the chest. “Yeah.” The air whooshed from his lungs. Only he
had
been to blame for
his
friend's death. If he'd done his duty instead of letting his misguided loyalty to their friendship cloud his judgment, his friend would still be alive.

Kate dried her tears with her sleeve and pushed to her feet. “What are you doing here anyway?”

He took a step back and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I got worried when you didn't show up at church.”

She ducked her head. “I meant to come, and then . . .” She reached for the dustpan and waved it at the shattered mug. “I fell apart.”

“You'll get through this.” He picked up the larger shards as she swept up the fragments.

The phone rang, and she jumped so badly half of what she'd swept up bounced from the pan.

Tom dropped his pieces into the trash bin. “Do you want me to answer that?”

“Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” He lifted the receiver from the hook. “Adams' residence.”

“Oh,” said a surprised female voice from the other end of the line. “Is Kate there?”

“She can't come to the phone right now. May I give her a message?”

“Um, yeah. This is Patti Goodman, her research assistant. Could you tell her that the data she was going to email me didn't come through and ask her to resend?”

“Will do.” He hung up and relayed the message.

Kate clutched her head and stalked into the living room. “I told you I was losing my mind. She was just being nice, pretending the email must have gotten lost in cyberspace. I completely forgot to send it.”

He sat on the armchair closest to her desk. “You've had a lot on your mind.” Her soft floral scent clung to his shirt and made him yearn for her trust all the more. He wanted to be here for her to lean on whenever she needed him. If only . . . “You've got to stop being so hard on yourself.”

Kate rummaged through a stack of files. “At the rate I'm forgetting things, it won't matter what stunts GPC pulls, I'll end up sabotaging Daisy's research all on my own.” She uncovered a USB drive and held it up in triumph. “Got it.”

“I don't understand why you think GPC would sabotage the research. I'd think they'd welcome an opportunity to partner with you on something that looks so promising.”

“Not when it jeopardizes sales of their most profitable drug. It wouldn't be the first time they've scuttled promising research.”

He curbed his skepticism. Worrying about work was the last thing Kate needed right now. “What do you say I take you to lunch after you get that emailed?”

She bit her bottom lip.

He was so used to battling her determined side that her uncertainty tugged at his protective instincts. “My treat,” he said for added incentive, unwilling to leave her alone all day.

Her eyes sparkled, and he marveled at how good it felt to be the cause. “Are you sure you won't get in trouble for fraternizing with a suspect?” she said teasingly, although he sensed a thread of genuine concern.

If he wasn't more concerned about keeping an eye on her, he probably wouldn't have asked until the counterfeiting case was wrapped up. There was bound to be more talk like Vic's at A Cup or Two if they were seen together. But . . .

“I'm willing to take the risk.” He winked, drawing a beautiful flush to her cheeks.

“Okay, let me take care of this email and then we can go.” She switched on her computer. “I'll just freshen up while this is booting.”

After she slipped into the bathroom, he wandered around
the living room, a little stunned that she'd agreed so easily. He wondered if this counted as a second date. With this whole GPC move hanging over her, the upcoming trial against Molly for her attempt on Kate's life, and now this counterfeiting incident, it was natural that she'd shy away from adding any more complications to her life.

If only he could convince her that spending time with him was a good thing, not a complication.

Strolling the grounds of the Niagara Parks Botanical Gardens, Kate pointed to a purple coneflower. “That's an
Echinacea purpurea
. Extracts from the plant can boost the immune system. But they also make good cut flowers, lasting for up to a week in a vase of water. They're lovely, don't you think?”

“Yes,” Tom said, his voice husky. “Everything here is beautiful.” Only he wasn't looking at the garden, he was smiling at her.

Heat that had nothing to do with the August sunshine crept to her cheeks. “Anyone ever tell you you're a flirt?”

“Never. But I've been told that I'm sincere, honest, and have exceptionally good taste.”