So About the Money (35 page)

“What happened?” Alex frowned for a second, then stepped forward as if he intended to hug her.

“It doesn’t matter.” She waved a hand to fend him off. “I’m tired. I’m sore. This is pointless. All you’ve ever seen of me is the outside. When you drove up just now, all you noticed was I was here and I wasn’t wearing a business suit.”

“That’s not true,” he protested.

“Admit it, Alex. You’re not upset about breaking up.”

Alex’s cheeks darkened as a flush rose along with his temper. “I don’t know why I bothered.”
 

He took two steps toward his car, then stopped and pivoted on his heel. Fixing her with a glare, he said, “When you’re all alone this weekend and want to know why, don’t lay it at my doorstep. Just look in the mirror.”

He climbed into his car, slammed the door, and drove away.
 

She stared after him. Did he actually think they could patch things up? Or was the canned speech supposed to make him feel better by painting her as the villain?
 

She couldn’t help but compare Alex’s actions to JC’s. Last night she’d seen yet another facet of JC’s personality.
 

One she liked.
 

A lot.

She could still feel the solid strength of his arms and chest, the gentleness of his touch as he examined her injuries. He’d maneuvered her past most of the red tape at the hospital and waited patiently while bureaucracy ground through the rest.

Her face creased with a wry expression. Of course, he’d also had a great time pushing her buttons, including that shot about looking sexy with her hair messed up—but the comments had served a purpose. They’d kept her distracted, preventing her from obsessing about the accident.
 

She turned toward her office building. She’d saved obsessing for after she’d gotten home. JC had offered to take or follow her home, but she wasn’t ready to make that leap. Now that she thought about it, he’d looked kinda relieved too, when she’d said, “No, thanks.”
 

The rest of the night had crawled past with a lot of tossing and turning. Glaring lights, the truck roaring toward Laurie and her. The screech of metal, crash of breaking glass, and Laurie’s scream. It was all jumbled up with “Who?” and “Why?” in a crazy tumble of images and impressions.
 

Holly tugged her briefcase trolley onto the entry walkway. She wasn’t stupid. Even as she’d insisted at the hospital, the police station,
It could be an accident
, she’d tried to figure out what she’d done, who she’d made nervous enough for someone to lash out at her.
 

The name that kept surfacing wasn’t Alex, Frank, Creepy Security Guy, or even Lee Alders.
 

It was Tim.
 

She didn’t want to believe Tim would deliberately hurt her.
 

Maybe it really had been a drunk driver. The reporter who’d shown up at the library while she wasn’t paying attention had said so on television last night. The news snippet had generated a flood of calls—to her and, according to JC, to the police. So far, none of the tips had led anywhere, but it was simply a matter of time before the police found the truck and its driver.

The outpouring of concern proved one thing. Alex was wrong. She
did
let people into her life. She had friends. Lots of them.

She tugged the door handle with her fingertips.
 

His cruel comments still hurt.
 

Chapter Thirty-four

Back pressed against the building’s glass door, Holly struggled through the entrance. She eyed Desert Accounting’s office, then turned toward Stevens Ventures. As she wrestled the cart past the door, Brea jumped to her feet and hurried around her desk. “My God, what happened?”

“It looks worse than it is.”
 

Brea elbowed her out of the way and tugged the trolley inside. “In that case, are you lost? Tim and Alex are supposed to meet you at your office.”

“I know. I need to talk to Lillian for a minute. Okay if I leave this here?”

“Sure, I’ll keep an eye on it.”

Holly nodded her thanks and crossed the lobby. Without the impediment of the cart, movement was easier. She rolled her shoulders, shrugging off residual stiffness. Midway across the room, she stopped and turned. “I meant to ask you earlier. Did a dark haired guy—tall and sorta scary looking—ever come in here asking for Marcy?”

Brea shook her head. “Who is he?”

“I’m not sure but the manager at the Tom-Tom Casino said his security manager had started dating Marcy. If it’s who I think it is, and if he really was dating her, he’d have shown up here.”

Repeatedly.
 

“If someone like that came here, especially if he asked about Marcy, we’d have all heard about it. I can ask around though.”

“If anybody remembers it, please let me know.”

“I’d rather tell that hunky detective. We
are
talking about a possible suspect for Marcy’s killer.” Brea twitched an eyebrow and smiled.
 

Her brain/mouth filter trapped,
He’s mine
.
 

Whoa. No he isn’t.

Instead she said, “Okay.”

She headed toward the payroll clerk’s office. If Creepy Security Guy was Frank and he really was seeing Marcy, he’d have made a nuisance of himself at her workplace. Someone would’ve noticed—and mentioned—him hanging around. Then again, the casino manager could’ve gotten their dating wrong.

Lillian lifted her head when Holly stepped into the office, apparently catching her motion at the doorway. With furrowed eyebrows, her fingers rolled through “What happened?” She pointed at Holly’s bandaged hands and temple.

“I fell.” She didn’t want to dredge up the details. Dodging those explanations was one of the reasons she’d ditched her clients today.

Lillian watched her with worried eyes. “If you want to talk about…” Her hands finished in a vague, encompassing gesture.

“Really. I fell in a parking lot.” Holly briefly held up her bandaged palm, then continued. “Road rash.”

The payroll clerk nodded, as if she still believed an evil boyfriend had taken his fists to her.

“Earlier this week, you said you wanted to talk to me.” Holly’s hands were stiff and the bandages across her palms made her gestures awkward.
 

Lillian glanced at the doorway, as if she didn’t want anyone to see them together.

Holly took a seat with a dismissive wave. As if anyone in the office could handle more than basic signs. They certainly weren’t going to be overheard, especially if she simply signed and didn’t speak aloud. “Is it something about Marcy? Tim?”
 

Lillian’s gestures looked tentative. “The Southridge building. Tim hired a lot more people than he usually does.”

Holly waited for Lillian to continue. “And,” she prompted.

“We’ve never used this many people before.”
 

“It’s a big project.” Holly didn’t want to jump to conclusions, even with her internal monitor screaming warnings about all of Tim’s business. “Is there something specific making you uncomfortable?”

Lillian chewed on her lip for a moment, then signed, “Marcy filled out all the paperwork.”
 

Holly fidgeted with the stapler, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. Finally, she forced her hands through the gestures. “Maybe the workers needed help with the forms. Or didn’t speak English. Or…”

Lillian again glanced at the door. “A lot of them used the same post office box for an address.”

“Damn.” Holly’s shoulders sagged as she considered the implications. Marcy, honey, what did you get yourself into?
 

The next thought was equally unsettling. If hiring the excess workers was fraud, was Marcy the instigator or merely a co-conspirator? Had she invented employees, looking to steal money, or had Tim put her up to padding the payroll to remove excess cash from the company accounts?

Lillian’s expression probably mirrored hers. Worry. Concern. Hoping somehow there was another reason.
 

Alrighty.
Holly squared her shoulders, even though it hurt in more than the physical sense. If something illegal was going on, she needed proof. Pasting on what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she signed, “Do you have a list of the extra employees? And a copy of the paperwork?”

“I’ll get it to you,” Lillian promised.
 

“One more question. Did Marcy and Tim ever…” She couldn’t remember the sign for “flirt” so she finger-spelled it.

Lillian gestured, not understanding.
 

She was running out of time to be circumspect. If Tim was responsible for last night’s truck incident, she wanted to know where—and how—to watch her back. “Did you ever see them act like they were more than friends?”

 
“They never hugged or kissed, but there were signs.” The expression on Lillian’s face might’ve been dismay or disappointment. “Looks, smiles, comfort in each other’s personal space.”

Of course, Lillian had noticed the body language. More than most people, she was attuned to that layer of communication. “You didn’t mention it to the detective.”

“He didn’t ask about them, only if someone would hurt Marcy. Tim would never hurt her.”

Holly wasn’t so sure about that. Lillian’s hands moved slowly. “I miss Marcy. I still expect to look up and see her.”

“Me, too.” Holly let her expression say the silent part. That she hoped they were both wrong about Marcy’s involvement in whatever was happening at Southridge.
 

~$~

“Well, aren’t you Ms. Popular this week?” Tracey beamed at Holly once she managed to wrestle the trolley into Desert Accounting’s office. A vase of roses graced the corner of the receptionist’s desk.

“For me?” Surely Alex wouldn’t spring for flowers two days in a row. The first bouquet had surprised her. Two seemed excessive, even for him.
 

“They came this morning. Open the card. Who are they from?” Tracey extended a white florist’s envelope.
 

Holly fumbled with the small card until Tracey grabbed it and extracted the note.
 

“To second chances.” Tracey peered over her reading glasses. “What does that mean?”

She gave the receptionist a perplexed look. “I’m not sure.”
 

A second chance with who? Alex? Her heart skipped a beat. JC?
 

She cautiously peeked into her college memory file. Had JC ever sent her flowers? She couldn’t remember, and she had no idea what kind of dating moves he currently used.
 

“There’s no name.” Tracey flipped the card front to back. “Alex? Or someone new?”
 

The receptionist’s eyes held an avid gleam as she sensed the possibility of juicy details.
 

“I don’t know.”

Was JC really looking for a second chance? Showing up at the library last night, that hadn’t been police work.
 

Or manipulation.
 

Was it?

Could he have faked the way he’d held her? She’d felt not just safe, but cherished.

“Let me see the card.” She studied the words. It wasn’t JC’s distinctive handwriting, but he could’ve called in the order. And the cryptic message sounded like something a guy would say when he didn’t want to commit himself.
 

Unfortunately, she couldn’t exactly call up JC and ask if the flowers came from him.
 

She sighed with frustration. She really didn’t need another mystery right now.
 

~$~

Holly had maneuvered the trolley and flowers into her office when she heard her mother’s voice.
 

Donna Price burst through the door in a flurry of maternal concern. “I heard about the accident on the news this morning. Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?”