Broken Trust

Copyright Information

Broken Trust: A Nora Abbott Mystery
© 2014
Shannon Baker

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First e-book edition © 2014

E-book ISBN: 978-0-7387-3454-5

Book design by Donna Burch-Brown

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Cover design by Lisa Novak

Cover illustration: Robert Rodriguez/Lindgren & Smith

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dedication

To Dave: Home is wherever I’m with you.

author’s note

Welcome to Nora’s world, which is slightly different than the real one. I know readers are super-smart and savvy and will notice a few factual discrepancies, and I want to head you off at the pass and apologize for them.

First off, kachinas belong on the Hopi mesas and the sacred San Francisco Peaks in Northern Arizona. Having one travel is a huge breach of respect for the Hopi culture. I promise not to let it happen again.

Mount Evans, in Colorado’s Rocky Mountains, is a beautiful and easily accessible mountaintop. I recommend anyone who has the lung capacity to breathe at 14,000 feet to drive or hike to the top. However, don’t go in October, when Nora heads up. The road will be closed and you won’t be able to skirt the entrance kiosk, as Nora does. Plus, it would be stupid to try.

Although there are some wonderful stone houses in Boulder canyon and bridges do cross the creek to access them, Loving Earth Trust’s building is from my imagination. It certainly could be there, but it’s not.

HAARP is real. The technology exists to do everything that’s outlined in this book. At least, I think it can happen; the conspiracy theorists and others I researched believe it’s possible. Since I don’t have a physics degree and getting one would be nearly impossible for me, I decided to believe them.

Finally, I love cats. I really do.

one

Sylvia LaFever simply had
to have it.
If the Trust won’t give me an advance, I’ll force Eduardo to pay for it. After all, I’ll soon make him the wealthiest man on the planet.

But of course, he wouldn’t want anyone to know that.

Sylvia stared at the photo of the Chihuly chandelier on her laptop. She’d never have another chance at something so perfect for her dining room. At $90,000
,
it was a steal. The Trust could cough up the money.
They owe it to me
.

A squeaky voice broke into Sylvia’s thoughts. “I’ve finished the initial calculations on the refractory angle
,
but it seems like we’re way off.”

Sylvia slammed the top of her computer closed. “Nice work, Petal.”

Petal stood in front of Sylvia, a mass of dreadlocks on a too-skinny body. As usual, layers of gauze and hand-knitted rags swathed Petal. She mumbled, “When the plume excites the ionosphere, are we monitoring the disturbances in the
hundred-kilometer
range to see if this leads to short
-
term climatic alterations?”

Questions, chatter, like a million needles into her brain. Sylvia bestowed a patient smile on Petal. “It’s complicated and I don’t have time to explain it to you. If you earn your PhD we can have a more meaningful conversation about the principles behind ELF and short
-
term climate fluctuations.”

For god’s sake, Petal’s eyes teared up. She swallowed. “I just wondered because the coordinates bounce the beam to South America.”

Sylvia rolled her chair away from her desk, the wheels rickety on the plastic carpet guard.
I deserve better than this drafty space tacked on the
crumbling
farmhouse
Loving
Earth Trust is so proud to call headquarters.
The slapped-up dry wall and builder-grade windows
were
bad enough
,
but they’d simply laid industrial carpet atop a concrete floor with minimal padding.

Rust-colored carpet.
Disgusting.

Maybe the sparse computer equipment covered the Trust’s simplistic climate
-
change modeling project, but for the magic Eduardo demanded, she needed more sophisticated hardware.

Sylvia stopped short of patting Petal on the arm, never sure when the girl had showered last. “If you do as I tell you and watch and learn, you’ll gain more knowledge than asking me questions all the time.”

Petal nodded and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “Will we need to change the angle of the tower?”

Sylvia pressed a finger up to her mouth to silence Petal.

Petal retreated to the particle-board desk shoved into the corner of the room amid the used file cabinets the Trust provided for Sylvia. Dented metal with chipped beige paint, they maintained the same thrift-store style of the rest of this dump.

I should still be in Alaska running the HAARP facility. I wish I could see their faces when they understand their mistake in firing me. Thank god Eduardo understands my genius.

The October chill filtered into the office, but Sylvia forgot the temperature while she opened her laptop and
e-mail
ed the art broker to secure the Chihuly. A knock on the thin door of her office disturbed her glow of acquisition. Sylvia glanced at the time on her computer. Ten thirty.

The door opened without an invitation and a frowsy woman poked her head inside.

Sylvia sounded more welcoming than she felt. “Darla. What are you doing working so late?” The financial director of Loving Earth Trust didn’t often stick around after four o’clock. No one at the Trust did. Sylvia, on the other hand, worked long hours. As expected of a creative genius.

Darla stepped farther into the suite, as Sylvia called the thirty- square-foot addition to give it more class than it deserved.

Darla stood just inside the door and gawked at the maps tacked to the walls. Sylvia changed them periodically so the office appeared dynamic. Darla’s dumpy jeans and scuffed clogs fit right in with her hair—the color of spoiled hamburger and hanging in shapeless strands to her shoulders. The woman had no style. But then, those environmental types seldom worried about fashion.

Darla twisted her hands over her heavy, udder-like breasts. “We need to talk about your project.”

Actually, Darla coming here saved Sylvia the trouble of going to her. “Absolutely. I’ve made some necessary equipment upgrades. I’ll turn in an expense report tomorrow and expect reimbursement right away.” How much could she get the Trust to cough up?

Darla cocked her head as if she hadn’t understood.

A rustle of clothes reminded Sylvia that Petal sat at her desk.
Sylvia brushed her hand through the air. “You can go now, Petal.”

Petal slipped almost silently toward the door. Darla and Petal exchanged looks as if Sylvia couldn’t see them. Underlings always hung together, driving home the truth: It’s lonely at the top.

As soon as the door closed behind Petal, Sylvia addressed Darla. “I can give you a trend analysis of the climate change with respect to beetle kill so you can answer questions at the board meeting.”

Darla smelled ripe, like a true naturalist.
God, w
hy can’t these people shower regularly?
Her bushy eyebrows drew down in a frown.

“I found the missing money.”

Sylvia didn’t care about Darla’s petty bookkeeping problems. “That’s nice.”

Color rose in the accountant’s face. “I don’t know how you got the money out of your restricted funds without the passwords, but you need to return it.”

Minions. Always bothering her with their problems. Sylvia wouldn’t let Darla weasel out of paying her. “If Mark approves the funds for equipment, which I assure you he will, you need to write the check.”

Darla shifted from foot to foot. She peered at the ceiling and the floor. “I don’t know what’s going on, but money is missing. Big amounts.”

Was she suggesting Sylvia somehow caused
her
bookkeeping errors? Sylvia strove to sound maternal. “I’m not the accountant, but I know you’re good at what you do. You’ll just have to find it.”

“The auditors will see it right away even if the board doesn’t discover it.” Darla’s voice broke.

Just because Darla was a terrible accountant didn’t make it Sylvia’s problem. “Sometimes when I have a particularly vexing problem, I sleep on it and things are better in the morning.”

Darla’s porcine eyes sparked with fear. “You stole four hundred thousand dollars.”
She trembled.

Sylvia stood. “You’re crazy.”

“You’re not doing any work on climate change here. Everyone knows it. But you’re doing something. I’m going to the board and telling them.”

Pathetic Darla, so jealous. She needs to learn her place.
Sylvia slid her desk drawer out. With a voice like cotton candy, Sylvia said, “Go home. Sleep on it. I’m sure you’ll feel differently in the morning.” Sylvia straightened and pulled her arm up.

Darla gasped.

Sylvia loved the feel of the Smith and Wesson 638 Airweight revolver. The grip caressed her palm and at slightly less than a pound, even her delicate wrist could hold it steady. The gold plating on the barrel coordinated pleasingly with the pearl grip.

When she’d bought it, she thought it might be an extravagance. But it was so elegant and deadly—just like Sylvia—and she’d had to have it. Now it proved an expedient tool for chasing off fools.

Darla backed into a file cabinet and inched toward the door. “You wouldn’t shoot me.”

Sylvia raised her eyebrows and smirked, holding the gun steady on Darla, loving her feeling of command. Only a few people had Sylvia’s audacity. She was truly extraordinary.

Like a quail in the brush, Darla panicked,
then
turned tail and raced toward the office door.

Sylvia couldn’t resist
following
her down the short hallway to the kitchen. She laughed to
see
Darla tug
ging
on the kitchen door and stumbl
ing
down the steps to the dark back
yard.

Still laughing, Sylvia pointed the gun into the night and fired. How could she not? It would be like holding potato chips in your hand and not eating them. Besides, frightening Darla provided extra insurance that
the nitwit
would write that big check tomorrow.

In Sylvia’s life, insurance was a good thing.

Chuckling,
she
locked the kitchen door.