Judgement By Fire (25 page)

“Good Lord,
Paul, you have no idea how glad I am of the interruption,” Lauren assured him,
stepping back to let him into the house before she closed and locked the door
behind him.

“I’m glad to
see you are at least taking the security thing seriously,” he said as he
watched her flick the dead bolt home.

“Yeah, well, I
don’t think my friends could manage to refurnish my studio another time,”
Lauren said, grinning at him, “So, I know you’ll have coffee—the coffee bean
fairies provided me with a brand new coffee maker.”

“Believe me,
none of us are fairies,” Paul replied, giving Lauren a leering look which
caused her to laugh out loud.

“No, I guess
not. How’s Lucy? I am so sorry I haven’t been back to visit her.”

“I think Lucy
understands that you’ve had a fair bit on your plate,” Paul replied dryly. “Of
course, she’s furious that she’s stuck inside when so much has been going on
out here and can’t wait to get out into the thick of it.” He accepted a
steaming mug of coffee from Lauren and settled himself on the corner of the
settee. “Umph, you’re right, this isn’t as comfortable as that old thing—or
maybe it’s just that the other one was molded to the shape of my behind.”

“Well, you’re
certainly in a good mood,” Lauren commented, pleased at the return of her
friend’s sense of humor.

“Well, some of
that’s to do with seeing you look so chipper. Your home’s been ransacked, you
were driven off the road, and you’ve been blown up, yet you look better than
ever. What’s the secret?” Paul looked serious for a moment, then slapped his
fist against his forehead. “I’ve got it. Could it have anything to do with the
Jeep that was parked outside all night?”

Lauren nearly
spilled hot coffee in her lap as she reached behind her back for the pillow she
threw at Paul, uttering a couple of rude adjectives as she did so.

“Don’t you
miss anything around here?” she demanded, catching the pillow as he threw it
back.

“Nope. More
than my life’s worth to miss something as juicy as that out of my daily report
to Lucy,” Paul grinned. “And I must say, for the record, I’m really pleased for
you. He might be a bottom-feeding pond scum of a company president, but he’s a
pretty good guy after that.”

“Well, I’m
glad you like him,” Lauren tried to sound severe, but it didn’t work.

“Yeah, and I
can see by that special glow that you’re pretty happy with him, too.” Paul’s
expression grew serious. “Lauren, I’m really glad the police are out there.
Whoever this guy is, I don’t think he’s given up yet, and maybe, if he can’t
get to Rush, he’ll come after you again instead.”

“Get to Jon
through me?” Lauren’s heart lurched, but she swallowed deeply and managed a
grin for Paul’s benefit. “Don’t worry, he wouldn’t get near here. Not only have
I got Baby Cop out there—that guy must be all of twenty—but Chief Ohmer’s on
the warpath good and proper. I’d almost feel sorry for the guy behind all this
if Mike Ohmer gets his big mitts on him!”

“I wouldn’t
waste your time feeling sorry for the likes of him,” Paul said darkly. “Anyway,
what I wanted to know is, will you be able to get your bodyguard to shadow you
as far as the West River community hall tonight? There’s a meeting of the ABC
committee. I may be late getting there – probably will have to hog tie Lucy to
make her stay home.”

“She’s getting
cabin crazy, eh? I promise I’ll visit tomorrow! And don’t worry; I’ll be at the
meeting. There’s not really a lot to discuss at the moment though, is there?”

“No, it should
be over pretty quick. Maybe afterwards you’ll drop around for a coffee?”

“Then Lucy can
grill me in person? No, I think on second thought maybe your lady wife should
have an early night…”

The house
seemed so quiet after Paul had left, and Lauren found herself prowling the
small space. She picked up a blank canvas and began to prepare it with gesso,
but the task was quickly completed and she knew she had no desire to try to
paint. Instead, she tried telephoning Jon’s office, but his secretary said he
was out for the day. There was no answer on his mobile number, and Mary Wilson
at the farmhouse said he hadn’t called to let her know when he’d be home.

Lauren felt
Mary was holding something back; her tone was shadowed with anxiety, and
putting the phone down, she couldn’t help a shiver of worry herself. Where was
Jon and what was happening?

It was almost
a relief when the doorbell chimed as she closed her curtains against the
growing dusk. Constable Perry was on the doorstep, looking apologetic.

“I’m sorry,
Miss Stephens, but there’s been a massive pile up on Highway 401 and all cars
are instructed to go help. The Chief told me to go down there, see if I’m
needed, then report immediately back here. He also said to tell that Stephens
woman to keep her doors locked and stay inside,” Perry added with a sly grin.

“Yeah, well,
he’s out of luck,” Lauren said, feeling sorry for the young officer when she
saw the nervous look on his face. “Don’t worry. I’m just going into the village
to a committee meeting. I’ll be surrounded by people for a couple of hours, and
you’ll probably be back to stand guard at my door by then. Just please don’t
mistake me for an intruder if you’re back before I am and shoot me,” she
teased. “Oh, and keep this our secret, and there’ll be another helping of
casserole for you.”

            She closed the door
on the smiling young man, locked and bolted it, and headed for the shower.

*
* *

Jon and Warren
sat in Pippa Williams’ office, the small desk and all the available spaces
around them overflowing with company files. Earlier they’d startled Pippa’s
secretary by raiding her stationery cupboard to retrieve the packet Pippa had
told them she’d hidden in a copier paper box.

Since then
they’d confirmed everything Pippa had told them about the payments made after
orders were cancelled, supplies directed to projects that weren’t owned by the
company, and inflated costs on research projects. Yet in the intervening hours,
they’d come across little that would constitute hard evidence directly
implicating Stephen.

“I can see
enough here to show that someone, and everything points to Stephen, was drawing
money off. Large quantities of money, in fact,” Jon said wearily. “But for the
life of me, I can’t see where Lauren comes into all of this. Do you think
Stephen could be involved there?”

“Right now, I
don’t feel qualified to speak on what your cousin might or might not do,” the
other man answered, his voice harsh. “That old guy, Paul Howard, Lauren’s
friend, he said it sounded as though this had turned personal. Lauren and I…”
Jon’s throat tightened on the words.

“Yeah, you and
Lauren are personal,” Warren said, slapping his friend on the back. “and a good
thing, too, if you ask me. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll also check
with the West River police, make sure they’re doing their duty babysitting your
little friend.” Warren sighed and stretched stiff muscles. “As far as her being
driven off the road in your truck, and even being in the area when the
information center burned down, it just seems like the lady has a knack for
being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

            “But what about the
damage at her studio? I mean, Warren, whoever did that was pretty angry. And it
was somehow, well—personal.” Jon found it hard to believe that Lauren, his
bright, warm, honest Lauren, could possibly have done anything to arouse such
anger in another human being.

            As if he read Jon’s
thoughts, Warren said quietly. “She wouldn’t be the first woman to
inadvertently bring some male ego to the boiling point.”

            “So you think that
was something apart from everything else that’s going on, like maybe this Steve
character – she said his name was Wallace - couldn’t take no for an answer?”

            “It sure looks that
way. The ransacking of the studio just doesn’t seem to fit with everything
else,” Warren agreed. “I’ll see if I can find anything out about him. She didn’t
say where he was from or what he does for a living?”

            Jon shook his head,
although something was bothering him about the information. He just couldn’t
put his finger on it – his head was buzzing from the files they’d been reading.

“Well, at
least we know she’s got police protection, even if it took a lot of persuasion
to stop Mike Ohmer from arresting her on the spot!” Jon smiled at the memory of
Lauren’s indignation when she realized the Chief thought
she
might have
been responsible for the destruction of the Rush Co. information booth.

            Warren’s answering
smile faded suddenly as he was hit by one of those intuitive feelings that
often became part of the package in experienced security and law enforcement
people. Looking at Jon’s worried face, he bit back the words he almost said, resolving
instead to phone both the police chief and Lauren with a warning to be extra
vigilant. Something smelled all wrong, but Warren couldn’t put the feeling into
context. It was just a sense that they were missing something, some connection
that would pull everything into focus.

            Muttering an ardent
prayer that he was overreacting, Warren stood and stretched his tall frame.

“Look, I don’t
think I’m a lot of help here.  You’re the guy with the inside information about
what should and shouldn’t be on the books. I’m going to check in with the
police, see what progress they’ve made on the hit and run, then I’ll go around
to Stephen’s apartment. Maybe he’s tucked up in bed with the flu and doesn’t
know anything about the fuss.”

Jon blanched
as an awful thought hit him, stealing his breath. “You don’t think – it
couldn’t be – this Steve who’s bothering Lauren…”

“You’re
thinking it could be your cousin? I doubt it – Lauren said she’s met him at an
art show fundraiser for environment. Hardly Stephen’s cup of tea – and it was
at a two day conference in Vancouver at about that time.”

Jon drew in a
shuddering breath. “So you’re pretty convinced these are two separate
occurrences? Lauren’s stalker and Rush Co.’s troubles?”

Warren nodded,
hearing the relief in Jon’s voice. “I can’t see any connection at all – it’s
kind of a perfect storm. Two crazy sequences of events that come together
because you and Lauren met.”

*
* *

            “Yeah, right,” Jon
said tightly. He found it hard to appreciate the sarcasm about his cousin. He
wasn’t sure quite when he’d actually accepted that Stephen was behind Rush
Co.’s troubles, but he now considered it an absolute certainty. What he didn’t
know was how far his cousin was prepared to go.

Warren left
and Jon returned with renewed energy to the piles of files and ledgers before
him. He stopped only for a minute to phone his home, wanting to talk to Mary.
She must have been out, so he left a message and got right back to the work in
hand. He was comparing statements of bills paid with actual orders processed
when there was a timid knock at the door and a mousy looking young woman
entered at his command.

“I’m sorry to
bother you, Mr. Rush, er, sir,” she stammered, obviously overwhelmed at having
to directly address the company’s top executive. 

            “That’s okay,” Jon
said, glancing at the woman’s identity badge. “Elizabeth, right? Can I help you
in some way?”

            The young clerical
assistant shuffled her feet and glanced nervously behind her. “I wouldn’t come
to you, sir, really, but my supervisor, Mr. Bachman, is out of the office and
there’s a man, you see.”

            Jon nodded
encouragement, trying to control his impatience with the poor woman as she
stammered out her problem.

            “He’s from one of the
art galleries. I, er, forget which one, but he’s very angry. Apparently, he
submitted a rather large check to us for payment and we returned it because it
didn’t have the proper authorization. He’s really mad and he’s insisting on
talking to someone in authority, but Mr. Bachman is out and Pippa….Miss
Williams…” Tears sprang into the young woman’s eyes at the mention of her
injured superior, and Jon took pity on her immediately.

            “Why don’t I just
come out there and see what the problem is?” he said gently, reaching behind
him for his suit jacket.

Elizabeth
nodded gratefully and left the office. Jon’s searching hands came into contact
with the chair back, and he realized he’d left the jacket in his own office.
His mobile phone was in the coat pocket where he’d slipped it earlier, and he
cursed quietly. Supposing someone—Stephen? Lauren? —had tried to reach him on
the mobile number? He’d better get to his jacket as soon as he’d dealt with
whatever problem Elizabeth had brought him.

            The man pacing the
short length of the accounts department reception area was tall and thin, but
exuded an almost electrical energy from every inch of his wiry frame from the
top of his springy-curled head to the toes of his highly polished black shoes.
Seeing Jon, he pushed the wire-rimmed glasses back up on the bridge of his nose
and strode forward, covering the distance in a couple of steps, his hand
outstretched.

            “At last, someone in
authority. And to whom am I speaking, please?” he demanded, his peculiarly
old-fashioned phrasing explained by the slight Eastern European accent.

            “I’m Jon Rush,
president of Rush Co.,” Jon said, shaking the other man’s offered hand. “This
young lady tells me you have some kind of accounting problem?”

            “I’ll just say I
do…company president?
The
Jon Rush?” the man hesitated suspiciously as
if he was about to become the victim of a joke.

            “Without a doubt,
yes,” Jon replied seriously. “You’re right, I don’t normally answer problems
brought to the accounts reception desk, but things have been a little—er,
strange around here and it looks like I’m the only available person right now.”