Waterfront Weddings (51 page)

“Rachelle.”

Her mother spun around and stiffened. “Gerald.”

“I heard you were back.” Alanna didn’t like the way he studied her mother.

“I see the grapevine still works.”

“You haven’t been gone that long.”

Alanna leaned forward as her mother muttered, “Not long enough.”

“Is there anything we can do for you?” Alanna took a step and slid between the two. The vibes between them were odd. Uncomfortable. She searched her memory for any reason but came up empty.

Mr. Tomkin smiled at her in a manner that looked more like a grimace. “I said I’d come by last night.” He tapped the briefcase pinched under his arm. “These are the ledgers.”

“Gerald, Alanna’s not back to give you legal advice.”

“You’re the only one she can help?” There was something about the way he said it that worried Alanna. Like he knew about the paintings. “How’s your arthritis, Rachelle?”

Alanna pointed at the briefcase. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll look.”

He strode to the counter, and Alanna joined him.

“I’ll carry these back.” Mom fluttered a hand at the stack of paintings, a pointed look shooting from Alanna to the paintings and back.

“This won’t take long,” Alanna emphasized.

Gerald opened the case and spread the papers across the counter then wiped his hands down his shirt. “These spreadsheets tell the story.”

The numbers swam in orderly rows across the pages. Alanna stared at them as her eyes glazed over. If she’d wanted to study spreadsheets for hours, she would have taken the CPA exam.

“Don’t you see?”

“I see lots of numbers.” She moved a hand across the pages. “I need context.”

“A few months ago, we held elections, and I became president of the foundation.” He held up his hands. “Look, I didn’t want the position, but it’s a small island. There aren’t many people to volunteer for jobs like this.”

That made sense.

“First thing, I sat down with the books. I’ve had to balance budgets at the school for years. If the books aren’t good, you’re in trouble before you even start. Besides, I needed to know if we had anything to give away. The foundation’s still new—about five years old. Enthusiasm’s high, but people’s dreams are often bigger than their pocketbooks.”

“So what did you find?”

“That’s the thing. Something’s fishy. See here.” He picked up a spreadsheet and pointed to a couple of columns. “From what I can see, there’s an account here that doesn’t match any the board approved. The policy is that after the board approves a grant, the bookkeeper opens an account. Then each time a check is issued, it’s entered here.” He pointed at another line. “I’ve identified six accounts totaling about twenty-five thousand dollars that I don’t think are valid. I had my bookkeeper look at things, and she can’t figure out why those accounts are there.”

“Then what do you think I’ll find?”

“Not sure, but you’re smart and you aren’t involved. I need proof that something is wrong before I say anything. Hoffmeister was the president before me, and with the bad feelings between us, I must have solid proof before I say a word.” He pulled the pages into a stack and slid them into the folder. “Here you go. Technically, there’s still money in the accounts. But I’m nervous about making disbursements until I have a better sense of where that twenty-five thousand went and whether we’ll get it back. That’s the big reason I keep postponing action on Jonathan’s proposal. He’s got good ideas. But. . .if we don’t have the money, we can’t add anything.”

Mom came back and grabbed another box. “No need to dramatize everything, Gerald.”

“We’ve got a problem here.”

“Maybe, but you’re just asking Alanna to confirm suspicions. She can do it if she wants. You always said she was the smartest student you ever had.” She dragged the box a few feet down the hall.

Alanna wished she were as certain as Mom. The thought of spending her evenings poring over pages of numbers sounded as much fun as having her wisdom teeth yanked. “I’m not a forensic accountant.”

“Who said anything about CSI?” Gerald picked up the folder and shoved it into her stomach. “Just take it. You’ll find a way.” His gaze followed her mom until she disappeared down the hall.

This really wasn’t as complex as any of her cases. She could spend a few evenings on it. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.” Alanna stared at the papers she really didn’t want to accept. Guess she knew how she’d spend her free time for a while.

T
he day had evolved from one call to a dozen e-mails to a large crisis. By the time five o’clock arrived, Jonathan couldn’t wait to lock the door and escape. Tonight he’d pick up a few things at the deli then head home and sit on the dock. Maybe he’d catch Grandpappy this time.

A smile crooked the corner of his mouth at the thought. All the times he’d fished, he’d stopped looking for that old catfish years ago. Guess every fisherman had to have the one that always got away.

But Alanna remembered.

If she dredged up that memory, there must be more— important things—she recalled.

When he reached the cabin, he shoved the grocery items in the fridge and strolled to the dock. He collected his fishing gear from the small shed and plopped down on the edge. The shadows from the trees edged along it, playing a cold game of peekaboo with him. Maybe he should wait for a day when he could fish before dusk shadowed the dock.

Still, he sat there a minute.

Had Alanna figured out what was wrong with the paintings? What would he do if she did? He only had guesses. But based on her intensity, he had a feeling she’d uncovered the fraud.

Now the question was what she would do about it. He was just glad he wasn’t in her place. He only had to delay Mr. Morris. She’d been thrust into the family business, tasked to keep it running, and faced with the unknown. All while wrestling the past—alone.

He marveled that Alanna hadn’t married yet. Surely through law school and her career she’d met men who shared her goals and ambition. Maybe her experience with love mirrored his. Disappointment that couldn’t be overcome. Close but never a fit. He enjoyed Jaclyn, but it wasn’t love. He shifted on the dock and fed bait on the hook. Thrust the pole to the side and swung it forward, watching the line spool out.

The dock shook, and he stilled.

A minute later Alanna settled next to him. “Mom’s here.”

“What brought her back?”

“Other than spending time with her daughter?” Alanna bumped his shoulder with hers. He stilled at her playfulness, wondering if it was forced. She sighed, a sound that seemed to come from her toes. “She brought paintings.”

Oh. He chewed his lower lip. “That’s good, right? Means you sold some.”

“I guess.” She ran a hand through her bobbed hair. “I’m not sure what to do with them. How to address the paintings with her.”

“Family can be tough.”

“You have no idea.” Alanna turned her gaze from the water to him. “Why did you move here? You could go anywhere.”

I waited for you
. But he couldn’t say that. . .not without scaring her off or sounding like a fool. Instead, he shrugged. “I always liked it. When an opportunity came to buy the event-planning business from Mom and Dad, it made sense. I’d done a bit of that for a small Christian university and was ready for a new challenge.”

“Has it lived up to your expectations?”

He tugged the line and watched the bobber dance. “Yeah. It’s hard work, but most days I enjoy it. There’s something special about bringing someone’s vision to life. Speaking of, I need to talk to your mom about that commissioned painting.”

Alanna stood and brushed her khakis off. “I don’t know.”

“She’d appreciate the extra money.”

“What if she’s not painting?” Alanna sealed her lips and grimaced. Did she want to reclaim the words that hovered in the silence?

“You figured it out?”

She nodded. The sound of birds rustling in the trees drifted around them as he studied her locked jaw. After a minute, she shuddered then looked at him. “But what am I supposed to do with that? I have no idea when it started. I don’t know what to do with the paintings she brought today. I can’t be a party to lying. . .but how do I fix it?” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m not even sure they’ll realize it’s wrong. And if I don’t handle this right, Mom could land in serious trouble.”

Jonathan considered his words. Did she want to be heard, or did she want his opinion? “Have you talked to her?”

“Mr. Tomkin arrived with his set of trouble before I broached the topic.”

“Start with her. See what she says before you get too worked up.”

She swiped at the tear and gave a watery smile. “Too late for that.”

“What does it hurt?”

“You’re right.” Alanna swallowed. “Guess God gave me the perfect opportunity. We’ll be face-to-face rather than over the phone or e-mail. He seems to be loading my plate pretty full.”

“Deal with your mom first. She’s a great lady. I can’t imagine it’s anything so horrible you can’t work it out.”

“I hope so. I’ll let you get back to catching Grandpappy.” She started toward land then turned. “What are you doing for supper?”

“What bachelors do. Making a sandwich or something easy.”

“Come over. Mom’s making pasta, and she’ll make enough for a small army. Say in an hour?”

“As long as you won’t use me as an excuse not to talk.”

“Are you kidding? You’ll be our buffer.” She smiled then turned and hurried toward her home.

Jonathan watched her a minute. She might be upset, but she was still the most beautiful woman he knew. And she’d found a strong faith.

An hour later he wandered around the fence separating their yards, holding an island guidebook. He hadn’t been sure what to bring, and none of his grandma’s flowers bloomed yet, though he’d seen some around the island. Another couple of days and the lilacs would color the world with beautiful fragrance but for now provided nothing for his hostesses. He couldn’t wait to see Alanna’s face at his offering.

He slipped around the back of the house. Mrs. Stone had told him to use the back door after he showed up one too many times at the front. Mrs. Stone opened the door before he knocked.

“Jonathan. We’ve missed you. You taking good care of my girl?” A mischievous light glinted in her eyes.

“Trying.”

She laughed. “That I understand. She’s an independent one.”

“Mom, I’m right here.”

“I’m not saying anything I haven’t told you.” Rachelle turned back to him. “I’m glad you came. One of Alanna’s better ideas.”

“Mom. . .”

Jonathan chuckled at Alanna’s exasperated tone. In some ways, the clock rolled back to before Grady died. These two always picked at each other in this good-natured manner. At the time, he’d assumed that’s what teenage girls and their moms did. Now he decided it must be moms and daughters. He leaned down and kissed Rachelle’s cheek. “Thanks for letting me invade.”

“I haven’t been gone long enough to forget those crazy meals you called real food.”

“What can I say? Cooking’s not my thing.”

“That’s an understatement.” Rachelle ushered him into the cozy kitchen. “Make yourself at home. We’ll be ready to eat in a bit.”

Alanna turned from her station near the sink where she shredded lettuce into a large bowl. “What do you have?”

Jonathan patted the cover of the book after he placed it on the granite island. “Just a guidebook.”

Alanna stepped closer, her nose wrinkling as she read the title. “A guidebook to Mackinac? Don’t you think I know everything there is to know? I grew up here.”

“Sure. But aren’t people notorious for missing the things in their own backyards? Thought you might enjoy flipping through it.”

“In all my spare time?”

“Exactly.” He matched her grin. Alanna finished the salad while he stood and filled glasses with filtered water from the fridge. Wonderful, tangy aromas filled the room, tomato tinged with Italian seasoning and garlic. Rachelle shoved a pan of garlic bread in the oven and then dumped a pile of pasta in a colander in the sink. “Anything else I can do?”

“Sit down and get out of the way, young man.” Rachelle winked at him as she turned back to the oven and checked the toast. “So tell me what’s happened while I’ve been gone.”

“Did Alanna tell you about what happened here?”

“No.”

Jonathan explained about the shed. “I’m not sure if the police learned anything.”

“Alanna, you need to move down to the apartment when I leave. We can’t have you out here alone. I’ve never heard of anything like this happening.”

Alanna glared at him. “It’s not anything to get upset about, Mom. I talked to the police chief when he stopped by. It looks like a one-time event with nothing for them to follow.” She tossed carrots and cheese into the salad with a little more force than necessary and then added a few cherry tomatoes on top. She set it on the table and then sank onto the stool catty-corner from him. Circles darkened the skin beneath her eyes, highlighting the worry that crowded out the joy he’d seen earlier.

After another minute, Rachelle turned from the stove. “We’re ready.”

She carried a bowl filled with bow-tie pasta and marinara sauce to the small, round table. After placing it in the center, she took a seat in front of a bank of windows overlooking the pond.

Jonathan loved being in this kitchen, embraced by this family. When his parents’ marriage had fallen apart, he’d known he could count on the Stones to love deeply. Now he wanted to be there for them, though he’d leave the instant Alanna asked. The idea she even wanted him there for the conversation surprised him. Miss Independent might not be so sure of herself after all.

Mrs. Stone started passing the bowls of food. “Forgot the salad dressing. Still like ranch, Jonathan?”

“You haven’t been gone that long, ma’am.”

She smiled at his mirrored words and popped to her feet to retrieve a bottle from the fridge before handing it to him. He poured a generous amount on top of the lettuce.

Alanna snickered. “Like some salad with that dressing?”

“You know it.”

“You always have buried the good stuff.”