“I hope you nailed Naomi for the missing money.”
Her expression darkens, as though the situation is weighing heavily on her. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.” She opens her top drawer and slides an envelope across her desk. “This is your last paycheck. I didn’t know where to send it.”
“Thank you.” Taking the envelope, he stands to leave.
Stella walks him to the door. “I’m hosting a Friendsgiving on Sunday night. I’d love for you and Mary to come. We can give you a proper send-off.”
“We hadn’t planned to stay. But I’ll talk to Mom and let you know.”
Truth be told, he wants to talk to Presley first. Whether he stays for the party or leaves for Nashville on Sunday morning as planned is up to her.
32
Stella
I’d interpreted Naomi’s accusation against Everett as yet another one of her empty threats. Is it possible she stole money from the inn? Is there any money even missing? Our accounting department hasn’t notified me of any discrepancies in our accounts. Why would Naomi need to steal when my father provided for her in his will? Maybe it’s not about the money. Maybe it’s about the thrill. Maybe she’s trying to satisfy some sick and twisted deep-seated yearning. Or maybe she wants me to crash and burn so she can take over the inn.
Lifting the phone receiver, I punch in Brian’s number. After exchanging pleasantries, I tell him why I’m calling. “I have a hunch Naomi is embezzling funds from the reservations department. But I don’t understand why she would need money when she has her salary plus whatever allowance she receives from Billy’s estate.”
“That money is intended primarily for Jazz’s benefit,” Brian explains. “Naomi gets a modest monthly stipend, and she’s required by the terms of the trust to submit an account of her expenditures.”
“So, if she wants to buy a designer handbag, she must use her own money?”
“Exactly. I haven’t been shopping for women’s accessories lately, but I imagine some designer bags are costly.”
I fall back in my chair. “In that case, she may very well be robbing the till.”
“If your hunch proves correct, you have grounds to fire her. Then what?”
Twirling in my chair, I look out the window across the front lawn. “Then I risk her leaving town with my baby sister. You’ve told me before that Naomi has no other family. Are you certain about that?”
“Positive. I investigated her thoroughly. Naomi is an only child, and her parents and grandparents are all deceased.”
“She has no one to turn to, and unless she’s been accumulating stolen cash under her mattress, she has limited funds to get far if she decides to run.”
In a warning tone, Brian says, “Tread carefully, Stella. You never know what trick Naomi might have up her sleeve. I’m here for you if you need me.”
“Thanks, Brian.” Feeling the onset of a headache, I massage my temples. “I hope you got the invitation for the Friendsgiving tomorrow night.”
“I did,” he says. “And I responded to Cecily. Opal and I will both be there. We’re looking forward to it.”
“Me too. I’ll see you then.”
I press the button to disconnect the call, and looking up Diana’s cell number on my Rolodex, I quickly tap it out on the phone’s keypad. She answers on the first ring. “Good morning, Diana. I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
“Sure! I’m actually in my office, catching up on some work. What’s up?”
I tell my accountant about my suspicions.
“I haven’t noticed any inconsistencies in the accounts,” she says. “But I may have missed something. Can I do a little digging and get back to you?”
“Please. Call me on my cell. I’ll be around the farm, although I might not be in my office.”
I drop the phone in its cradle. If Diana unearths proof that Naomi’s been stealing from the inn, I will not hesitate to fire her. I’ve been working my butt off to turn this place around, and she’s been undermining me at every turn. Naomi might have something up her sleeve, but I’m fairly confident it doesn’t involve leaving Hope Springs.
The wall’s closing in on me, I jump to my feet, and stuffing my cell phone in my back pocket, I leave my office. The lounge is crawling with people. I recognize some locals but most, I presume, are guests. There’s a long line outside Jameson’s, waiting for a table for lunch, and a crowd in Billy’s Bar watching college football.
I take the elevator to the basement and sit in on a wine tasting Presley has organized for a group of guests. Lucy does a commendable job of explaining how to taste and what to look for in terms of flavors and aromas in the sampled wines. Do I detect tension between Lucy and Presley? They’re usually an entertaining pair for these groups. Both are uncharacteristically quiet, although I catch them sneaking glances at each other. What is up with them? I thought they were friends.
When the tasting ends, after mingling with the guests for a minute, I leave the main building and wander down to the maintenance shed where Katherine is unloading wreaths and trees from the back of our landscape trailer.
“I love that smell,” I say, inhaling a deep breath of Christmas. “Do you need some help?”
Katherine hauls a large tree out of the trailer and holds it upright. She’s strong for a slight woman. “I won’t say no to an extra pair of hands.”
We spend the next hour setting the trees in buckets of water and giving the wreaths a good soaking. When we finish, we stand back to admire the trees leaning against the building.
“You did a great job, Katherine. The trees are so fat and full and healthy. They should last through New Year’s.”
She gives me a playful nudge with her elbow. “If we
