The Singles (27 page)

He sneered. “Go back to Margaret’s.”

“I’m not going
anywhere
.”

Although I absolutely wanted to hear the rest of this conversation, I realized it wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t like he’d invited her to his place—thank goodness—but nothing good ever came from listening in on things like this. Then I realized something else.

With Finley in the middle of a quarrel with Oliver, I had been blessed with a chance to take a look inside her car.

Dragging my attention away from Oliver and his ex, I crept in the other direction to the backdoor, and as I slipped outside, I could hear the argument progress to yelling. Walking as fast as I could without shoes, I reached the front of the house where I found Finley’s shiny red Jaguar parked in front of the garage bay where I’d left my Mini Cooper earlier tonight.

God, I hoped she hadn’t locked the door.

I pulled off my plaid shirt and wrapped it around my hand. Pulling the door handle, I winced—fully prepared to take off in a sprint if the alarm went off.

To my surprise, the sleek door swung open, and I leaned into the tan leather interior, inhaling the scent of new car.

Since I didn’t have time to scan what I found, I grabbed every piece of paper inside Finley’s dashboard. Shoving them into my shirt, I closed the dashboard and the car door. Surprised at how easy that had been, and feeling a little bad ass, I was halfway across the driveway and heading to the back of the house when I heard her hiss my name.

“
Lizzie
?”

Freezing, I thanked all the higher powers she hadn’t walked outside a few seconds earlier. I smoothed my hands over the paperwork hidden beneath my shirt, dragged in a breath, and turned around to look at the flushed woman standing several feet away.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Finley,” I drawled, echoing what she said to me every time we came in contact.

“What are you doing here?” she seethed, stalking across the walkway, her hazel eyes wandering to my bed hair. She glanced behind her, and I followed her stare to Oliver. He stood in the doorway, somehow looking like sex incarnate even though he was scowling. “Why is
she
here?”

Giving up on my plan to sneak in through the back way, I walked barefoot toward the front door, offering her a tiny smile as I passed by. “I came to run an errand for Margaret,” I explained a little too sarcastically, and I knew I’d probably pay for that.

Tomorrow morning, Margaret would be all over me.

Finley’s lips parted, and she pinged her eyes from Oliver to me. “You’re with
her
now? Is this the reason you’ve been so ... strange?”

It was wrong of me to feel so much pleasure at hearing her say that, but that was the exact emotion that rushed through my body. Ignoring the voice in the back of my head that told me I was stupid for feeling anything for a man I’d have to say goodbye to sooner or later, I hugged myself close. The pages beneath my shirt crackled under my arms.

Neither confirming nor denying our involvement, Oliver gave his ex an icy smile that would have made even Margaret Manning-Emerson tremble. “
Goodnight,
Finley.”

When I passed the stone pillars on either side of his veranda, I heard Finley say evenly from behind me, “You probably think this is funny.”

“No.” Halting a few inches from Oliver, I twisted to see her beside her Jaguar with her hands balled into fists. “But I’m sorry if you think I do.”

She opened her door and threw her purse inside. “What was it you told me your father always said to you?” Don’t say apologize for things you’re not really sorry for?” Her nostrils flared. “Well, take your own advice.”

A few seconds after the front door closed behind Oliver and me, her tires squealed, signaling her departure from his home. His expression blank, he moved toward me, but I pressed my hand to his chest. I didn’t want him to feel what I’d stuffed down my shirt.

Didn’t want to come up with another lie this late.

He raced the back of his finger along the side of my face. “What were you doing outside?”

“I was checking my car for an extra phone charger,” I said breathlessly. “I promise I wasn’t leaving.” Before he had a chance to form a response, I stood on my toes and kissed him. “I’m going to shower and then I’m coming back to bed. And we will actually get some sleep.”

Exhaling, he nodded. From his tight expression, it was apparent he was still irritated from Finley’s visit. “Don’t take too long, Lizzie.”

The moment I locked myself in the bathroom with the massive body-jet shower, I plucked the papers from my shirt. As I sat on tile shower bench and leafed through receipts and other frivolous documents, I felt a sharp stab of remorse.

What if I was being suspicious of Finley for absolutely no reason?

“What if—” I started, but then I saw something on the page in my hand that made me blink. It was a bill of sale from Jaguar for Finley’s car, but she wasn’t the purchaser.  

The stepmonster was.

Turning to the following page—the temporary vehicle registration—I found Margaret’s name once more.

“What the fuck is going on here?” I murmured, holding the papers side-by-side, studying them closely. Why on earth would Margaret buy Finley a car?

Oliver rapped on the door a few times, and my heart collided against my ribcage. “Is everything alright?”

Gathering the paperwork into a stack, I found myself bobbing my head even though nobody could see me. “Everything is ... fine.” I folded the pages inside my plaid shirt and tucked the sleeves to hold everything in.

Then, I stepped into the shower, my thoughts all over the place. 

*

I
made it through security and into my office the next morning with a couple minutes to spare. A few seconds after I’d powered on my iMac and lowered my butt to my rolling chair, the phone on my desk rang.

Before I could murmur a greeting, Margaret’s voice boomed in my ear, going a mile a minute. I sucked on the inside of my bottom lip and waited for the verbal lashing that was bound to happen due to Finley telling her about last night.

To my bewilderment, though, I quickly realized she was more interested in chatting about early Christmas shopping than my affiliation with her son.

“I like to mail out gifts to my favorite editors and colleagues a few weeks in advance, and I don’t have time to deal with any of that this year. I’ve sent you an email with what I need you to pick up and who you’ll be mailing what to.”

“Do you want me to work on it after Thanksgiving next week?”

She blew a breath into the receiver, and I could just imagine the look of sheer frustration pulling at her thin lips at this very moment. “If I wanted you to do it
after
I returned from France, I would have asked you then. Do you understand?”

Tapping my fingers on the checkerboard paperweight, I held the phone away from my mouth so she wouldn’t hear me grit my teeth. It was only a matter of time before I blew up.

Margaret had certainly given me plenty of fuel for a meltdown.

“I’ll get started on the shopping tomorrow,” I promised, my pulse speeding as I clicked on her email and glanced over the list that would probably print out to two pages. Certain brands jumped out to me like Hermès and Givenchy, and I wondered how many thousands of dollars Margaret’s Christmas shopping would add up to. “Where can I find all the addresses?”

“Most of them should be in your Rolodex, but my assistant from last year was so flighty, you might need to do your own research.” Not bothering to cover the receiver, she barked a command to whatever poor soul was assisting her in Paris before returning to me.

“What’s the status on that final transcription? I checked my box for it this morning, but it wasn’t there. You didn’t forget, did you?”

Rolling my eyes, I opened the transcription software. “Almost done. I’ll be sending it along by the end of the week.”

“Good enough. Did you schedule the car to meet me at LAX next Tuesday?”

“The car will be there at two thirty. I also emailed you the confirmation.”

She made a tsking sound, and I braced myself for the shitstorm that would likely ensue. “One more thing, Ms. Connelly. It’s about my son.”

Oh, hell.

I bit my tongue, realizing she was about to tear me to shreds because of Finley—the woman she’d bought a very expensive car for.

Which still boggled my mind, but Pen had already promised me she’d find out exactly what was going on.

“Yes?” I breathed, clicking on a message from Stella that popped up on my computer screen. “What about Oliver?”

“Although it’s an intimate affair being held at my home, Finley has asked that I request your assistance checking names at the door for Oliver’s party. Don’t make plans for the evening of December fifth.”

Wow.

That was it?

No threats or promises to end my career?

“I’ll make sure my schedule stays free.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you next week, Ms. Connelly.”

After she disconnected the call, I stared at my screen for what felt like eons. Finally, when another message from Stella came through, I confirmed our lunch date and got to work.

*

“S
he’s embezzling money,” Pen told me confidently a few seconds after I dragged ass through the door the next evening. I’d spent the day hunting down Margaret’s early Christmas list—even using the gift card Oliver had given me the other month when I went over the daily limit. The last thing I expected was to come home to a greeting like that.

“What did you just say?”

“She’s. Embezzling. Money.”

“Finley Scott?” When I’d given my best friend the contents of Finley’s dashboard yesterday morning, she seemed giddy at the prospect of new developments. She’d also promised to make sure everything made it back into the other woman’s car before she noticed it gone. I’d been skeptical, but somehow, Penelope and all her connections had come through.

When I came home last night, she’d informed me that Finley’s belongings were back in place. And tonight, she was talking about embezzlement.

“Finley’s embezzling money?” I repeated, and my skin prickled when I said the words out loud.

Pen snorted. “She’s sure as hell spending it, so I’m positive she knows what’s going on, but I’m talking about Margaret.” When I released a strangled noise, she sarcastically added, “Mommy dearest has been one busy bitch.”

Dropping my bag on the couch, I sat on the armrest and stared intently at my best friend, who was typing away like she hadn’t just dropped a massive bomb on me. “You’re screwing with me.”

Gathering her long brown hair away from her face, she nodded to a white binder sitting on the coffee table. “There’s a lot in there, so it might take you some time.”

My ears throbbed as I lifted the binder from the table. Pacing the open living room, I drowned out the sound of
The Tudors
rerun Pen had playing on a low volume and flipped the cover open.

What I found inside were pages upon pages of financial reports. I’d never been a numbers girl, and all the digits seemed to meld together in a dizzying wave of black and white. “Where did you get all these?”

“Some from her laptop, others from the papers you took from her home office, and several from August. By the way, when Emerson & Taylor is yours, you should consider hiring us. We’re good at this.”

Pausing in front of the flat screen TV, I tossed her a dark look and she sighed. “When you brought home that stuff from Finley’s car—it got me thinking. That’s when some of those numbers started to click in place,” she said and motioned for me to sit near her.

Complying, I slid down on the area rug by the chair. She set her computer aside and took the binder from me. Holding it to where we both could see, she pointed to various figures she’d already circled.

“For starters, in the last year alone, she’s skimmed close to eight million from the company.” Ignoring my gasp, she added, “And all these five and ten thousand dollar a plate charity functions she’s hosting? The proceeds have gone into her pocket—” She paused for dramatic effect, and I swallowed down the pain in the back of my throat, figuring out exactly what she planned to say next.

“Her pocket and the Scotts?” I whispered, picturing Michael and Finley’s faces in my mind. “God, what the hell are they doing with all that money?”

“That’s what I wondered. So ... I had August dig around a little. You know how they spent the last year in Italy?” When I moved my head up and down, she said, “All their spending can be traced back to Margaret.”

“She’s paying for them to live.” It wasn’t a question but a statement, and I looked straight ahead. “How in the hell is that possible?”

Behind me, Pen let out a frustrated noise. “Apparently, nobody has picked up on this, which seriously makes me question what kind of idiots she has handling her shit. Well, you know, if they’re not along for this crazy ride.”

Embezzlement. Although the word made me shudder, it also took my breath away as I came to terms with what Pen’s discovery meant. “When this comes out, she’s going away for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“And this is where we have to get Linc involved, isn’t it?” I whispered, and she nodded.

“He’ll be out here the week after next. It’s going to suck to tell him, but by then I’ll have more answers. August and I are still digging, and I have a few theories, but I just wanted you to know this is almost over.”

Answers. Theories.
Almost over
.

Those were bittersweet words, and I turned around abruptly, wrapping Pen in a tight hug that left her wheezing. “You are amazing. You know that, don’t you?” When I released her, I stood and gave her a meaningful look, and she responded with a smile.

“I’m glad it’s almost over—for your sake.” Handing me the white binder, she pulled her laptop back in her lap. “We were hired to dig for information on some rich guy. It’s proven to be more difficult than I imagined, but I think I’ve made a breakthrough in that, too.”

“I ... wasn’t going to ask.”

“Yeah, but with everything going on, I didn’t want you to worry about what was going on with me.” Tilting her screen down, she twisted her lips to the side. “Are you seeing Oliver tonight? I wanted to make sure I’m not around because I’m always terrified I’ll screw up and say something I shouldn’t. He has that effect on people.”