Rough Harbor (20 page)

He went to Adriana’s. She was waiting for him, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought to talk to her sooner.

“She stole my keys.” Noah looked at Adriana. She had made him drink tea.

“Yes. That was probably not very wise of her. What did you tell Sam when he asked?”

“That I still had mine.”

Adriana nodded. “Good, that makes her look worse.”

“Good?”

“Well, Caitlyn said she wasn’t sure who it was, who was framing her. Or stealing money.”

“She knows?” Noah looked at the old woman. She was dressed in black pants and a red silk top decorated with a vaguely Asian motif. She looked sane. Old, but sane.

“I am not sure I understand.”

Adriana put her cup down. “You shouldn’t just yet. There are things you probably don’t know. But first, I need to know something.”

“What?”

“Do you think there is any way Caitlyn could steal money?”

Noah shook his head. “Of course not. I told her that. But I think someone is. My team is working on it. We just need some more time to flush out the crook. Caitlyn went ahead and made herself look guilty as hell. I couldn’t very well stop Sam from firing her, or I would have tipped my hand.”

“Of course. And I am sure Caitlyn will agree with your logic completely once she calms down.”

Noah looked at her.

“Do you love her, Noah?”

“Excuse me?”

“I loved someone very much once, but we couldn’t be together. For various reasons. Then he died. All of the reasons didn’t seem so important then, but of course, it was too late. You know who I’m talking about?”

Noah nodded. He wasn’t supposed to know. Caitlyn had told him, a long time ago, about her grandfather’s affair with Adriana. He had figured some of the rest out on his own. He swore to keep the secret.

“I know from experience the reasons we can invent to keep ourselves apart from the ones we love. And there are no good reasons, only excuses. So I ask you, do you love her?”

Noah swallowed. “Yes. I love her. I’ve loved her since she was seventeen, before that, before I knew it. I love her now, but she doesn’t seem to care, or doesn’t seem to value it. There is so much, so many things she hasn’t told me.”

“Stop.” Adriana looked at him. “She loves you as well. I can’t quite claim to understand what happened between the two of you, or that I understand what she is thinking right now. She’s told me; she’s asked for my help. She knows I owe it to her.”

“Why do you owe her?”

Adriana told him the story of Peter Flynn.

“So, she thinks she knows what’s going on, where the money is going?”

Adriana nodded. “She didn’t tell me the details, but I have a feeling her early morning trip to the office might have enlightened her.”

“But Flynn is dead?” Noah stood up, fear taking hold like a vise around his heart. “And my father’s dead. This is dangerous. Where is she?”

Adriana shook her head. “Believe me, I would tell you if I knew, but I don’t.”

Noah reached for his phone. “I have to find her.”

“Just wait a moment. Take a look at these.”

Adriana took out the papers Caitlyn had left with her – Mrs. Smith-Sullivan’s account statements and Adriana’s own.

Noah looked at them and shrugged.

“They look fine to me.”

“Yes, they do, just fine enough so you wouldn’t think about them. But, here, look at this.”

Adriana pointed to the top corner, where the Randall Company logo was. Then she held up the paper to the light.

“They’re printed on different types of paper.”

Adriana nodded. “But they are from the same time period. Apparently, the ones for Mrs. Smith-Sullivan’s are on a slightly older letterhead. Mine are on the new letterhead.”

“So?”

“Suspicious, Caitlyn said they should all be on the same. And technically, Mrs. Smith-Sullivan’s numbers don’t accurately reflect what was going on in her account. Caitlyn had trouble pulling the records, but she was able to find that the statements were being mailed to a different post office box. In other words, the real statements were being mailed to one post office box, and Mrs. Smith-Sullivan was getting a very good fake.”

“Why?”

“Because her real statements might have caused her some alarm. It was only because she asked for an unusual request that she had any trouble at all. That was quickly fixed, but she was suspicious. She is naturally suspicious, but in this case, there was some truth. Together, we came up with a list of names, most elderly women, not computer savvy, who were still getting paper statements. Caitlyn went in last night and looked them up and found that the post office boxes for their statement delivery have all been changed to the same one.”

“So, someone is diverting those real statements and sending out the fake ones,” Noah said.

“Right, and then the money in their Randall Group accounts is pretty much gone. Of course, if they need any money, it looks like someone had made it right.”

“The question is who… and what is he doing with it?” Noah said, looking at the papers in front of him.

“Do you think your little team of investigators might be interested in these?” Adriana smiled at him.

Noah smiled back. “Quite.” He took out his phone and started making calls.

It hadn’t taken too much. His investigators had been thorough. They didn’t know who could be doing it, but they started with the obvious – someone who was living above their means. A quick check of financial records had them honing in quickly.

Noah looked at the lawyer seated across from him. Ted had taken the red eye, connected with his New York office and brought in a local team. Now here he was, looking not the slightest bit worse for wear, reporting on his findings.

“It looks like he’s been skimming for a while now. The red flags are there if you look closely enough. Everything’s just a tad too nice. And he and his wife pay for a lot of it in cash. Questions to a few of the local and not-so-local merchants turned that up.”

“So, how does it work?”

“Well, we’re not entirely sure, since you said you wanted to keep this matter discreet, but just as your associate showed you, it looks like real statements were being diverted to a post office box, then doctored statements were being sent out instead. The doctored statements showed healthy accounts with modest growth, while, in reality, the balances have been drawn down quite a while.”

The lawyer tapped a list of names. “Targets fit the profile, generally senior women, for whom the Randall Group does not present the bulk of their assets. For the most part, they don’t take money from the account. If they needed money, your guy just moved it around, so that no one person ever got suspicious.”

Noah shook his head, feeling sick. “Do you know where the money’s gone?”

“Like I said, some of it was just spent as cash on day-to-day stuff. But we’re pretty sure it’s been stashed somewhere. Doesn’t mean we won’t find it, just might take awhile.”

“How much?” Noah asked.

“Well, it’s been going on for a while,” the lawyer said.

“What, like a couple of months?” Noah said.

The lawyer looked at him and laughed. “More like a couple of years. Try almost a decade.”

“What?” Noah’s voice went up, and he felt his stomach twist.

“Oh, yeah. For quite awhile.”

“But, he’s only worked here for what, a year?”

“He had a partner,” his lawyer said, and Noah pushed back in the chair as the full implication of this hit him.

Oblivious, the lawyer went on, “Obviously, the authorities will have to be called in, but you can keep this quiet if you’re willing to personally guarantee the money…”

Noah waved his hand in consent. The money meant nothing to him, now that he knew the truth. Was this what Caitlyn had been trying to protect him from?

“You know, I didn’t mean to do it.” Tommy Anderson stood up as Noah entered his office, flanked by a lawyer and two plain clothes detectives.

“Maxwell, he was an accident, Noah. But he was in on it. You should know that now.”

Noah had just enough time to throw one punch before a police officer intervened. It landed square on Tommy’s jaw with a sickening crunch. Tommy was hustled away, and Noah watched just enough of his interview to know that Tommy was willing to cut a deal. He’d tell them where the rest of the money was – where he and Maxwell had hid it, in return for no charges relating to Maxwell’s death, which he claimed was just an accident. They hadn’t gotten around to asking him about Peter Flynn yet.

Noah had left after that, not sure where to go, and suddenly he found himself standing in the doorway of her office. Everything was still here, as she had left it. She had spoken to Sam Harris this morning and then left. She hadn’t picked up her phone when he called, so he hadn’t been able to tell her what had happened. He’d called Adriana, but she’d said she hadn’t heard from her either.

There was a movement, and he turned and saw her assistant Heather behind him. She looked so upset that he was prompted to ask if everything was okay.

She looked at him and just shook her head. Her face turned bright red and then dissolved in tears. Noah looked around in surprise. The floor was quiet; there was no one else around.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He moved closer. He didn’t like women who cried. Caitlyn wasn’t a crier, and Heather’s full-on bawling left him bewildered.

“Why don’t we go outside and get a cup of coffee?” he suggested. “And then we can talk. I want to help her, too,” he said, almost as an afterthought. It was the right thing to say, because the sobbing stopped and she appeared to gain some greater measure of control.

They didn’t get coffee, but went to The Dory, which was closer. There were already a few people there, some Noah recognized from long ago. The bartender looked at them with slight disinterest and brought them their drinks without saying much. The jukebox was playing an old Springsteen song, and Noah looked around.

“I haven’t been here in ages.”

“Did you used to come here?”

“Sort of. A little bit. Not until I was older, of course. Most of the time we drank in parking lots or at the beach or something. When I was in college, we would come here sometimes.”

“You and Caitlyn?”

He looked at her, but she dropped her eyes and sipped her drink.

“No. Not with her.”

“But you used to date right?”

Noah wondered just how he had gotten into a conversation like this with a girl he barely knew.

“Sort of. Dating is probably the wrong word.” How could he explain that the word dating was totally inadequate to describe how he felt?

“But you grew up together?”

“Sort of. I went away to school, but she stayed, went to school here, in town.”

Heather nodded, playing with her red swizzle stick. She put it between her teeth and chewed on it, considering. She looked at him and then dropped her eyes, her fingers tracing the scarred surface of the bar.

“You were pretty upset back there. Anything you want to talk about?”

“Do you still care for her?”

“For Caitlyn?”

“Yeah, that’s what we’re talking about, right?”

“Of course I care about her. I’ve known her all of my life.”

“Your families were close. I heard the story about her grandfather.”

“Yes,” Noah said. He was uncomfortable with the story, now that he knew the truth.

“It’s a bad story.”

“Yes,” Noah agreed.

“Do you think something like that changes you?”

He was about to answer when she broke in, “Yes, of course, it would. I mean, Caitlyn seems so normal. So nice.”

“She is. She’s normal and nice.” And beautiful and complicated. He checked his phone again, checking to see if there was anything from her.

“But she’s being accused of some pretty awful things.” Heather’s voice brought him back to the now.

“But she didn’t do them. It wasn’t her.”

“What do you mean?” Heather looked puzzled.

Noah hesitated. If they wanted to prevent the collapse of the company and a run on their accounts, they were trying to keep the whole thing quiet, at least for now, until they found out where the money was.

“I mean someone was stealing money from accounts, but it most certainly wasn’t Caitlyn Montgomery. She was helping to uncover it.”

“But, she’s a thief. I mean that’s what he told me.”

Noah’s warning sensors went off. “Who told you that?”

“Her fiancé, Michael St. John. He was so upset, said that she had lost her way, that she was sick.”

“Sick?”

Heather nodded, took another sip of her drink. She was looking at him, blonde, blue-eyed, long lashes, trying to look at him from under them. She was about as sexy as a potato, he thought, but perhaps that was because blondes had never done much for him.

“You know she’s using you the way she used him. He told me that would happen. That history would repeat itself. That’s when I told him Tommy thought there were funny things going on at the firm.”

“Tommy told you that?”

“Sure.” Heather nodded. “He asked me to help keep an eye on things. Keep an eye on Caitlyn. I even had him call Michael so he could get the real story. Tommy was pretty glad after that, but Michael was happier. He sent me this.” She held out her wrist where an emerald and diamond tennis bracelet sparkled.

Noah looked at her. “So, Michael St. John doesn’t know that Tommy Anderson is being questioned.”

“Questioned? About what?” Some sort of comprehension dawned in her eyes. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Tommy asked for those passwords. He said Sam said it was okay.” Heather’s voice had gone up in a wail.

“When did you last speak to Michael?” Noah asked carefully.

“Earlier today.”

“Where was he?” Noah enunciated each word carefully.

“Around,” Heather said, then her hands squeezed around her drink. “I’m not saying anything else until I talk to someone.”

She took off then, moving quickly. Noah thought about catching up with her, but didn’t think he’d get any more out of her.

The bartender was looking at him, and Noah paid him.

“Does she come here a lot?”

The bartender lifted an eyebrow, and Noah peeled another twenty from the small wad of bills in his pocket.

“Lately, yeah.”

“Alone?”

“Not really. Sometimes it’s one guy, sometimes another.”

Noah made a guess. “One real dark, another real blond?”

The bartender shrugged and kept polishing a glass. Noah slipped another bill and held it partway across the scratched and scarred counter of the bar.

“Blond one’s got an English accent. Dark one works around the corner, has a wedding ring.”

“Thanks.” Noah gave the man his tip and left the bar.