Tapestry of Trust (21 page)

“Sure. I’m fine. In fact, I’m happy for Charlie.” OK, maybe not totally fine, but, Kate didn’t need to know that. She opened the car door. “I better get going.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” This time Kate met her gaze with an expression Isabelle did recognize.
Pity.
Kate felt sorry for her, all because she protected herself from further heartbreak. Well, too bad her friend didn’t understand that she felt totally content not being in a relationship. In fact, she felt sorry for Kate.

Sort of
. She swallowed a snort.

“I’m fine. Really. I’ll see you tonight.” Isabelle spun away before the conversation got any deeper. She slid behind the wheel letting the car idle while she rifled through her purse. Her mouth felt parched, and she needed gum. Actually, what she really needed was to point the car west, keep driving and not stop until she reached Arizona. No, California. Start over. New job. New friends. Maybe then she could get Charlie out of her mind once and for all.

Doubtful.
She popped a piece of gum in her mouth. The barn and thoughts of riding Admiral beckoned. Too bad at the moment, guilt took precedence. She could kick herself for not taking care of this last night. If only she’d stepped around the corner. Foiled Erica’s threat. Yes, a threat, that’s all it probably was. Isabelle was making too much out of this. For all she knew Charlie and Erica had already made up. Isabelle took a deep breath and tried hard to believe that. She might have believed it, had it not been for the insistent whisper in her head.

Probably not.

“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.” Isabelle gripped the steering wheel, her hand blanching as she squeezed out her frustration. She’d tried to do the right thing. Knock on Charlie’s door, exchange a few words of forgiveness. But no, nothing could be that simple when it came to Charlie. Instead now she was an eyewitness to possible blackmail.

She grabbed her cell phone, keyed in 4-1-1.

“For what city, please?”

“San Marcos. Wilson and Huss Marketing Specialists.” She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Even worse she couldn’t believe she remembered where Charlie worked.

“I’ll connect you
.”

Isabelle swallowed past the mammoth-sized lump in her throat.

A split second later a high-nasal voice squawked in her ear. “Wilson and Huss Marketing.”

“Yes. Erica…um…” Isabelle’s heart stopped. What was Erica’s last name? Resisting the urge to hang up, she hardened her grip on the mobile, thinking.
Erica who? Erica what? Erica’s father…owns half the company.
“Oh yes...Erica Wilson or Huss.”

“Erica Huss is at lunch. Would you like her voice mail?”

“No way.” Isabelle bit her lip. “I mean, when will she be back?”

“One o’clock.” A sniff followed.

Isabelle hesitated for a moment. She propped her elbow against the door and leaned her head in her hand, debating if she really had to do this.

“Anything else, ma’am?”

Isabelle coughed then inhaled. “Could I please have your address?”

After donning sunglasses, Isabelle punched the information into her GPS navigation system.
Charlie, you better appreciate this.

Thirty-seven miles and fifty-two minutes later, she turned onto Guadalupe Avenue. Buildings of all proportions ran in a jumbled line down the street and met her view. Thank goodness she had her GPS. Otherwise, she might never find the place.

Although if she hadn’t had her GPS—

No, no. She tossed that last thought aside. She knew what she had to do.

Traffic flowed smoothly, lighter than she expected. The frequent stoplights beaming a steady shade of green did not hurt either. No obstacles stood in her way, she noticed, except the growing apprehension in her chest.

She drew in a breath and felt calmer. That is until a computerized voice alerted her that in one-tenth of a mile she would arrive at her destination. She pressed a hand to her abdomen to quell the butterflies swarming inside.

Saying a quick prayer, she surveyed the parking situation. Not much to choose from. She drove around the building to the dismay of her GPS device.

“Turn back around…Recalculating,” It relentlessly chanted. On the third go around she gave in and parallel parked in front of the building, a feat she hadn’t tackled since her driver’s test on her sixteenth birthday. She lobbed the car into park and turned off the engine.

Once outside, she scanned the paper she’d scribbled the address on. Taking a couple steps back, she raised her eyes to the top of the building.
Wilson and Huss Marketing Firm.

Yep. This was it.

She studied the broad structure and swallowed. Twenty minutes max. Maybe less. After a quick rendition of what she heard and saw, she’d get out of there and then head to the barn.
No
big deal.
Isabelle slung her bag over her shoulder and strode into the building.

At first glance around the lobby, she spotted a large reception desk to the right. She walked closer but didn’t see anyone.

“Hello.”

Her greeting met silence.

A moment passed, then another. She moved a little closer and peered through the glass behind the desk. Nothing. She turned around to look for a directory. She assumed Erica’s name had to be there somewhere.

“How may I help you?”

Isabelle spun back as a middle-aged woman, balancing a cup of coffee in her hand, walked from the back office. “I’m here to see Erica Huss.”

The woman plunked her coffee mug down and took her seat at the desk. “Do you have an appointment?”

Isabelle hadn’t thought of that. This could put an end to her good intentions.
Too bad.
“No appointment.”

“Name please.”

“Isabelle Crafton.”

The woman jerked her gaze up. “Isabelle Crafton, did you say?”

Instinctively, Isabelle darted her gaze around the reception area, wondering if a SWAT team of employees waited to confront her. Had Erica mentioned her to her co-workers―warned them? Isabelle shouldered her purse that had slipped down to her elbow and a rush of heat filled her cheeks. “Yes. I’m Isabelle Crafton.”

Eyeing her suspiciously, the receptionist gave Isabelle directions. Uncomfortable with the woman’s scrutiny, Isabelle hurried out of the lobby and down a long hallway to the specified elevator. Once inside, she pressed four on the keypad, her mind already racing to the task ahead. Hanson account. Calvin Hines. Embezzlement charges.

She froze. Her day kept getting worse. Now her reflection, in the mirror-lined walls stared back from four different directions.

Not good.

She fished a compact out of her purse and powdered her face. She shook back her hair and moistened her lips with her tongue. Then studied her reflection again. Nope. Didn’t help. Her windblown hair still looked…well, windblown, and splotches of mud dotted her jean skirt. Using her fingernail she scraped off the dirt, then tugged her purple V-neck into place.

The elevator pinged, and the door slid open. A tall, roundish woman standing on the other side smiled at her.

“Well, aren’t you cute?” The woman pressed her hands together.

Isabelle felt her stomach drop. She twisted, looking right, then left, half expecting to see someone tucked into a corner.

OK, now she felt stressed.

Isabelle turned back, debated then decided. “Are you talking to me?”she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” The woman planted a hand on her hip and extended the other. “I’m Brenda, Charlie’s secretary.”

Isabelle stepped out of the elevator and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. But I’m not here to see Charlie. I’m here to—”

“Yes, yes, I know. Follow me.”

Isabelle followed Brenda as she set out briskly down the hall, her hips swaying as she hummed some little ditty. Even if Brenda seemed a little odd, Isabelle squashed all judgment. Charlie’s secretary was the least of her worries.

Brenda stopped at the end of the hallway, turned, and waited as Isabelle tried to catch up. But her feet didn’t like where they were headed. For the most part, her whole body didn’t either, and had it not been for that annoying small voice in the back of her head reminding her to do the right thing, she would have taken off in the opposite direction.

“So what do you think of Erica?” Brenda asked when Isabelle finally caught up.

Isabelle caught her breath, not sure how to take this woman. “I don’t really know Erica.”

Brenda stared down at her, a slight grin on her face.

OK.
Apparently not the answer she expected. “Uh…what do you think of her?”

Still staring at her, Brenda answered. “Let’s just say, she’s the loveliest of trust fund babies.”

Huh?

Brenda glanced over her shoulder then leaned closer and whispered. “She’s spoiled rotten. Pretty much worthless, if you get my drift.”

Isabelle fought not to smile but couldn’t help it. Her anxiety calmed a little. She felt better having an ally in the building.

But, another stab of nerves attacked when she heard Brenda say, “Good luck” just before she knocked on Erica’s office door.

“Come in,” a poised voice answered.

Isabelle opened the door and stepped into the room. “Hello, Miss Huss, I’m—”

“I know who you are. Isabelle Crafton.” Erica rose from behind her desk. “What can I do for you?”

Isabelle shrugged at her heated stare. “Well, actually I have a couple things to discuss with you.”

“If this is about Mark and Kate’s wedding, I can’t help with anything.”

Kate? Mark?
“No, no. Nothing to do with Mark and Kate.”

“Good.
I’m not sure I’ll even make the wedding. So I can’t obligate myself to do anything.”

“Of course.” Isabelle nodded, wondering what she thought Kate might ask her to do. “Actually, I need to talk to you about Charlie.”

“Ah, Charlie. Of course.” Erica cocked a brow and smiled. “Take a seat, Miss. Crafton. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable.” She motioned to the Chippendale chairs opposite her desk.

Feeling like a child about to be reprimanded, Isabelle shook her head. “No, thank you. I prefer to stand.” Even if it took her every ounce of energy to do so.

“So” ―Erica grabbed a stack of papers from her desktop and fanned herself― “before you waste your breath, I’m aware Charlie has been doing some soul searching lately. And rather than get your hopes up, please understand that in the end he’ll come around to know what’s best for him.”

“Which would be?” Isabelle couldn’t resist.

Erica smiled again, that same high-wattage smile Isabelle witnessed at the wedding shower. Practiced and perfect. “Certainly not you, dear.”

“Really?” Isabelle paused, biting her tongue.
“Actually this isn’t about competition, Erica. This is about blackmail.”

“Blackmail.” Erica stared at her, a laugh in her voice. “You honestly think you can blackmail me?”

“No, I don’t, but I also don’t think you should get away with trying to blackmail Charlie.”

Erica cocked another eyebrow at her. “What are you saying?”

“Embezzlement.”

Erica threw down the papers and crossed her arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A flaw.
She wasn’t as cool and collected as she wanted to portray. Isabelle felt better. “You know the Hanson account?”

Erica laughed. “I can’t believe Charlie told you about that.”

“Charlie told me nothing.” Isabelle held her ground and relayed the story. Details she couldn’t quite finish before Erica lunged forward and shoved a finger in her face.

“Why, you little snoop, listening to other people’s conversations. You must think you’re smart, don’t you?”

For a moment guilt pricked Isabelle until her muddled thoughts swirled back to the truth. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. You and Charlie were standing outside in the open corridor. Anyone could have heard. Fortunately, for Charlie’s sake, it was me.”

“Pleaaase.” Erica snapped. “Who would believe you anyway?”

OK now. Isabelle hadn’t expected that or the anger she felt knotting her chest. Who wouldn’t believe her? She had nothing to gain, although, Erica could be right. She was a simple school teacher, even worse, Charlie’s ex-girlfriend. Hardly a reliable witness in the world of social climbers. Still, she squared her shoulders, feigned confidence, and stared Erica in the eye. “I know what I heard Miss. Huss. I’m willing to go to the police, FBI, whomever I need to. I―I won’t let you blame Charlie for something he didn’t do. Something he would never do.”

Erica pressed her lips together, her chin jutted upward. “Bravo, Isabelle.” She clapped her hands in a mocking fashion. “I’m going to let you be the winner.”

Isabelle shook her head, baffled, annoyed. “Winner?”

“Yes, I’m throwing in my glass slipper, pulling out of the race. I get what I want, Miss Crafton, and I no longer want Charlie. He’s yours. If he can’t take a little ribbing, he doesn’t deserve me.”

Ribbing?

Rubbish.

Isabelle knew better, but didn’t bother to debate. She’d accomplished what she’d come for. She hoped.

She straightened and turned around to leave. “Thank you, Miss Huss.”

Two steps into her march, the office door swung open. Brenda walked in and a middle-aged man dressed in suit followed.

“Excuse me, Miss Crafton. I’d like to have a word with my daughter.”

“Daddy…have you been eavesdropping?”

Brenda winked at Isabelle.

Isabelle couldn’t hold back a smile. Her job was complete.

20

“I’ll take you upstairs, and you can talk to Charlie.”

Before Isabelle could disagree, Brenda punched the button to the sixth floor, and the elevator doors closed. Isabelle’s heart thumped. How could she talk to Charlie when she could hardly think straight? “No thanks. I’ll follow up with him this evening.”
No rush
. Especially since she and Charlie had other issues to resolve. She reached for the lobby button.