No Fault of Mine

Chapter Twenty-Two

I shifted from my knees to my seat and rested my back against the wall.

What I was holding was something other than ordinary paper. It was thicker than copier paper and had a texture. It reminded me of the stationary professionals and people in business used when mail correspondence was in vogue. My first thought was, "I've seen this movie," but the combination of letters and numbers didn't fit any scenario I could imagine. I thought the hidden meaning might emerge if I let my mind have free range, but a vanity-plate strategy wasn't helpful, nor were a geocache, physical address, or storage unit approaches. Sometime after four o'clock, my body gave in to sleep.

"Mom." My son's loud, grating voice woke me. He called for me several more times before I awoke enough to respond. By that time, my son sounded near panic.

"I'm in the study," I called. I moved and found my body was stiff. I groaned my way to my feet, wondering why a thirty-five-year-old woman couldn't comfortably sleep on the floor.

"Mom, I couldn't find you." My son's face was flushed when he entered the study. "Why are you in here?"

"I couldn't sleep," I said, pulling my son to me and holding him tight. I could feel his staccato breaths. "I must have fallen asleep."

"Yeah, I guess," he said. I could feel his breaths settling as his fright subsided. "I'm hungry. What's for breakfast."

"See if the waffle iron is on the counter. If so, you can plug it in?"

"Yea!" he shouted and charged down the hall. "You're the best mom," he called over his shoulder. I could hear the patter of his feet to the kitchen.

I picked up the sheet of paper with the abstruse message, folded it into a palm-sized package, and slipped it into my pajamas.

I dropped Brant at Aunt Bea's house on my way to work. She wasn't really his aunt, but she volunteered for the job. Brant loved her almost as much as he loved Aunt Pia. We loved Aunt Bea because she was a great sitter, and she introduced Brant to the world of books.

My next stop was at the donut shop. I know donuts are an unhealthy habit, but sometimes I think it's the only way we get Thad to visit the admin office. His office is his one-ton truck. And yes, it's as you would expect...six month's worth of fast-food sacks and wrappers tossed into the backseat. I don't know how he keeps everything straight, but I don't complain because our business has been profitable.

I pulled into my usual parking space between my admin employee's vehicles. I expected the usual office banter and questions as I entered but was surprised by strained silence other than a respectful "Good morning" from Ann and SueAnn. And yes, their names caused occasional confusion.

I placed the box of donuts on the counter and poured myself a mug of coffee. I selected a plain cake donut and headed for my office.

At the door, I asked Ann to bring me the accounts payable files for the current fiscal year and any statements due this month. As I turned into my office, I heard a shuffle of papers as Ann sorted through the incoming mail.

My two admin employees had been with the business since Thad and I took over the administrative reigns of the company. They had been thorough and reliable, characteristics that Thad and I valued in an employee.

I began listening to my voicemail. I got through three messages when Ann entered my office with two file folders.

"Thank you," I said as she handed them to me. She continued to stand by my desk as if waiting for further instructions. I put my phone down.

"Is anything wrong," I asked.

"I'm glad you're back," she said, picking at her cuticles. I'd seen her do this in times of stress, like last year when she was going through a difficult divorce.

"I've only been gone two work days," I said. "That isn't so unusual, is it?"

"I guess not. But what's been happening here is very unusual." Her eyes circled the world. I've seen people do that when recalling information and organizing their thoughts.

"Now, you have my attention. What's going on?"

Ann glanced at the door and back at me.

"Would you like me to close the door?" I asked.

"Maybe," she said.

I got up and put my hand on the doorknob. SueAnn looked up from her desk with a questioning look before dropping her eyes back to her desk. I quietly closed the door.

Ann said, "Thanks." She moved over to a chair and slowly descended, sitting on its edge. Her back was rigid, and with pursed lips, I'd swear she was Emma Watson's doppelganger. She took a breath and continued, "Thad and the police have been going through stuff, and SueAnn and I have been questioned."

"Tell me what's happened."

"The police have been here twice. The first time was when someone broke into our office. SueAnn's personal computer and the old office computer were taken. I don't know why someone would want that. It hardly works."

"You said the police came twice," I said.

"Yes. The second time, they were sorting through accounts payable spreadsheets on my computer and paper files."

"Any idea what they were looking for?" I asked.

Ann seemed to shrink into the chair, and her head dropped. "I don't know for sure. I really don't, but there's a rumor." She was now fidgeting with the cuticles on the other hand.

"Yes, go on."

She stood and walked to the window, the primary purpose of which was to provide light. Its view of the Compton Hills industrial area was not flattering.

"I'm so sorry," she said. When she turned around, tears streamed down her cheeks. "I need to know, Mia." She came toward me. "Is this business into something I don't want to be a part of? Just tell me yes or no. That's all you need to say: yes or no."

"Ann, I don't know. I'm telling you the truth. I really don't know."

Ann put her hands over her face, and her shoulders shook, conveying the story of her agony. I pulled a chair beside her and put my hand on her shoulder. She didn't move away.

"I think you've told me the rumor, right?"

She nodded.

"I'm trying to find out who killed my husband and why. I think once we find that out, we'll have our answers."

She dropped her hands. Her eyes were red, and tears still ran down her cheeks. Her eyes searched mine and asked, "What am I to believe? "

I patted her shoulder, withdrew my hand, and asked, "The truth?"

"Truth!" she said, her eyes penetrating mine.

"If you're truthful with me, I'll be truthful with you. Are you game?"

"Yes." Her voice was firm, maybe even resolute.

"Do you know someone was forging my initials on fake statements?"

She swallowed, pulled back her shoulders, and said. "I knew some statements were fake."