profit from selling the lumber to Japanese markets should fund my mayoral campaign.” She scanned the document.
“What’s this?” She placed her finger on a huge number with a dollar sign in front of it.
“I believe Judge Pepperidge has put your deposit on the purchase of the timber into an escrow account until the matter is fully investigated. If the city finds against Mayor Seth Johansen for unauthorized sale of the timber, the money will be refunded to you without penalty.”
“I know that, you idiot. I mean the amount. I never authorized that much. If I fork over that much, I’ll make no profit. I’ll end up in the hole.”
Chase blinked several times. “Let me see that.” He turned the paper so he could read it right side up. “That is a chunk of money. One of the reasons the City Council has second thoughts about this is that the money will rehire two teachers and fund the free clinic for another year.”
“But I only offered ten percent of that. What you are holding as a deposit was the full amount I offered-the salary of one teacher. Not two, let alone funding that stupid clinic for freeloaders, deadbeats, and welfare moms.” She lumped together all the people who might turn into her mother.
“That amount of money does sound more reasonable coming from you.” He scowled. “It appears that someone added an extra zero to the amounts you authorized. Any idea who? Your new assistant, perhaps?” He smiled, baring his teeth like a predatory animal.
“Who else? I’m in the middle of firing the thieving bastard except I can’t find his personnel file.”
“Makes you wonder who he truly is. And what else he’s stolen, besides his file.” Chase continued grinning. Laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. He was getting ready to humiliate her. Again.
“I can’t trust any man, it seems. Especially those who have had their hearts stolen by the likes of Dusty Carrick,” she grumbled.
“I’ll leave you with that thought. In the meantime, I’m going looking for Mr. Haywood Wheatland, if that truly is his name. Seems I’ve got a case for bringing him in for questioning. He’s altered official documents. Maybe embezzled. I’ll think of something appropriate.”
“Do that. Don’t let the door smack you in the butt on your way out.”
Fuming, Phelma Jo printed out the termination document and began filling in the blanks by hand. She wanted this official and legal, so the conniving thief of a con man couldn’t come back at her for anything.
“I wouldn’t sign that if I were you, Phelma Jo,” Hay said, quite suddenly appearing at her elbow, as if he’d secretly flown in on silent Pixie wings and grown to human size, unseen. God, she was starting to sound as delusional as Dusty Carrick. Or Haywood Wheatland.
“You can’t stop me.” She poised her pen over the line at the bottom of the page. The nib bounced up the instant she pressed it to paper. Then it slipped away, leaving a smudge on the pristine mahogany of her desktop.
“Oh, but I can.”
“Well, you won’t get away with cutting down The Ten Acre Wood.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that. By now, our friend Sergeant Norton has served cease and desist papers to the work crew. So you are going to have to help me cut down the Patriarch Oak.”
“You are out of your freaking mind if you think I will do anything illegal. Underhanded and sneaky maybe. But not illegal.” She pushed harder trying to get the pen to follow her orders.
“We’ll see about that.” Brightly colored sparkles filled the room like a myriad shattering rainbows.
Thirty-one
DUSTY SPENT MOST OF Wednesday night and Thursday morning composing a ream of emails to various committee chairs about a possible change of venue for the Ball. Then she set Meggie and M’Velle to making signs to put in the park that would direct guests to the new address. She’d seen the news crews around town interviewing everyone, from the mayor to the street vendors.
Her stomach still roiled at the assault from half a hot dog on a white bread bun that Hay had bought for her.
Funny, she hadn’t seen or heard from him in several days. After that wonderful, sparkling kiss, she thought he’d at least call.
“Dusty, I’m going up to the community college for a meeting,” Joe called into the lounge as he headed toward the front door of the museum at noon. “The place is yours for the rest of the day.”
“When will you be back?” She ceased typing and pulled a pencil out of her mouth long enough to spit out the words. Her gaze barely shifted from the computer screen to Joe’s back.
“Late. Maybe not until closing.” He waved casually and disappeared.
For her next chore, Dusty needed privacy. She waited until the girls were elsewhere on the grounds or upstairs with tours. Then she slipped into Joe’s office, and closed the door. She’d lock it if she dared.
In a matter of moments she had the complete accounting spreadsheet and her handwritten ledger in front of her. The receipts from the computerized cash register in the gift shop fed all its data from sales and admissions directly to her programs. It printed tickets along with sales receipts.
Item by item, she checked and double-checked, finding redundancy reassuring. Everything matched.
She went through it all again, adding things up on a printing calculator to give her yet another record.
If any money was missing, it hadn’t disappeared between the museum and the bank.
She pulled up the banking history via the Internet. All the deposits totaled up correctly. What about debits? Only the treasurer and the president of the Board of Directors had access to the checkbook and each check required both signatures. They kept a separate accounting for expenditures. She recognized the amounts for payroll, insurance, alarm permits, and utilities. They were the same most every month. But the other checks? What were they for?
She’d turned in requisition forms for advertising, decorations, catering, and music for the Ball. Those numbers looked familiar, but she couldn’t match them to the penny.
“Well, it looks like you’re innocent, Joe. Haywood Wheatland was just stirring up trouble.”
“I’m glad you recognize that,” Joe said, leaning against the doorjamb.
Dusty jumped in her seat. She’d been so deep in numbers, reality looked a little too bright and, well, real for a moment.
“Sorry to startle you, Dusty. But if you can’t find anything wrong with our accounting, then no one can. Because there isn’t anything wrong,” he said moving into the small room.
“You look tired, Joe.” She closed out the computer programs and scooted out of his chair.
“It’s a good kind of tired. I convinced the college to offer teacher continuing education classes centered around the museum, taught by you and me, tuition and fees to be split between the college and the museum. We’re looking at a decent source of funds to help us over the hump from losing the grant.” He remained where he was, blocking her exit.
“That is good news.” Hope brightened inside her that everything could continue on the same even keel. She didn’t like the idea of teaching, but she was sure she could push Joe into taking the classes if she did the prep work and designed handouts.
“Now all we have to do is find a way to stop the clear cut of The Ten Acre Wood and all will be well,” he sighed. After a moment he reached out and took Dusty’s hands. “We will make it all right, Dusty. Trust me.”
“I do trust you, Joe. You know that I only checked the books to prove you innocent.”
“Yes, I know. I trust you, too. We’ve been friends for a long time.”
She ducked her head, afraid of where this was going.
“Don’t hide from me, Dusty.” He lifted her chin with a gentle finger. “Our friendship is important. More important than that pretty boy, Haywood. I don’t want to see you throw your life away on his lies and con games.”
“I know that now, Joe. He was a temporary delusion. He lied to me, and I was just too naive to recognize
