Agatha Read online

  “Who knows? Chick is weird,” Keely says, taking a swig of beer. When she sees our faces, she knows we didn’t react favorably to her comment. “Just kidding. You know I love my twin.”

  “I love you too,” says Violet sitting down at the table. “What are you saying about me now, Keely?”

  “I was just responding to their question. They asked about your necklace.”

  Violet’s face flushes hot. “I lost it.”

  “Well, I found it.” Keely is such a smart ass. “It’s in your jewelry box.”

  “Stay out of my things!” Violet says angrily. “You have no boundaries, Keely. Stay the hell out of my stuff.” Without another word, Violet stands up, drops a twenty on the table, and leaves.

  “Well, that went well,” says a belligerent Keely.

  “Why do you do that?” Lainie asks, standing up. “Why do you try to rile her up all the time?”

  “Because,” Keely whines. “She never talks to me. Not anymore. We used to talk all the time. The more time that passes, the less we talk. We used to tell each other everything.”

  “She’s just introspective,” Lainie says, laying down her own twenty. “I’m going to follow her––make sure she’s okay.”

  “I’ll go too,” says Keely standing.

  “No.” Lainie sounds extra bossy. “Let me handle this.”

  “Fine,” Keely mutters, adding, “She’s my fucking twin.”

  I reach my hand out and place it on top of Keely’s. “You are. But, let Mama Lainie do her thing.”

  That makes Keely laugh. I guess she recovered quickly from Violet’s outburst. “Mama Lainie? Wow, you nailed that. I wonder if Keeton calls her Mommy in bed.” She throws her head back in a fit of hysterical laughter. When she finally calms a little, she finishes by slapping her hand on the table. “Oh, shit. That’s funny stuff.”

  “Uh, huh,” I mumble. “Funny.” Not.

  Chapter 18

  Ian

  It’s been four days since that night at Agatha’s and she still hasn’t messaged me. No text. No voicemail. No nothing. So, while there’s a part of me who’s relieved by that, a bigger part of me is a little pissed. Why wouldn’t she contact me? I’m working on clearing her name, for Christ’s sake. Isn’t she at least a little curious if I’ve found out anything? For all she knows, I could have broken the case wide open.

  “Fuck.” I’m definitely not happy about this turn of events. Fine. If she can’t bring herself to call me, I’m not going to play these bullshit games. Sitting in my car on my way to grab lunch for Jason and myself, I decide to take the initiative––be the bigger man, or person, in this case.

  Me: Hey Agatha. What’s up? It’s me, Ian.

  I stare at my phone for thirty seconds or so. It’s me, Ian? Can that sound any more pathetic? When I see nothing happening, no response, I start up my sedan and head out to grab lunch. I let my mind think about what I’ve learned in the last few days. “Nothing.” Well, that’s not true. Jason figured out that the software on Agatha’s computer was most likely installed using that flash drive she found on her desk. From the lack of information on the server and cloud, he’s confident that whoever installed the software used it to control Agatha’s computer from a personal device of some sort. It could have even been a cell phone.

  Jason was also able to pinpoint the times of day the transactions occurred. The billing and payments were consistent with regards to times of day. Like clockwork.

  I snap my fingers. “I’ve got it.” The excuse to call her. I need to ask her about those periods of time. There had to be a reason why the transactions always happened between 10:30 and 10:45 in the morning. There was no deviation to those times. The only variation was the days of the month the invoices appeared and were paid. The only person who can speak to why that would be is Agatha.

  At the sub shop, I decide to text her one more time, now that I have something to ask her.

  Me: I’ve got a question about the timing of the transactions. Can you call me?

  I don’t have to wait this time. My phone rings. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Ian. It’s Agatha.”

  “Oh, hey. How you been?”

  “Good.”

  Good? That’s it? She’s not going to ask me how I am? Rude. “I’m good too.” I chuckle but get nothing from the other end of the line.

  “You had a question for me?”

  “I do, but I don’t think I should ask you over the phone.”

  “Why not?” She sounds concerned. “Do you think I’m being bugged or something?”

  No. I don’t think she’s being bugged, but I’ll go with it. “You never know.”

  “Seriously?” she says, sounding even more distressed.

  “Don’t worry. I just like to play it safe. Why don’t I stop over tonight? Bring some food.”

  “I can’t tonight.”

  Why the hell not? “Oh? You’ve got plans?” A date?

  “Yes.”

  Yes what? What kind of plans? Shit, I can’t ask her. It’s none of my business. “Tomorrow night?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  It is a date. “What about lunch tomorrow?”

  I hear her sigh. “Just ask me over the phone. I find it hard to believe anyone cares who I talk to.”

  My turn to sigh. “Fine. Jason determined that all of the transactions occurred just after 10:30 in the morning. Is there any significance to those times?”

  “Yes. That’s when I took my break.”

  “Every day?”

  “Yes. Every day. You could set your watch by it, I guess you could say. I went down to get coffee at Java Jane’s at that time.”

  “Every day,” I repeat. “Every single day?”

  “Yes. Every day. Unless I was in a meeting or something. That’d be the only reason I’d miss it.”

  “Wasn’t that expensive?” Buying a fancy coffee every day really adds up.

  “Well, I was in the Cuppa-the-Month program. Why are you asking about that? Do you think I embezzled money to support my coffee habit?” She’s laughing, but it sounds hollow.

  “No, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ve got my own coffee addiction. It’s expensive. That’s all.”

  “It’s my only real indulgence. Or, it used to be.”

  I get that. Moving on. “Who knew about your routine? Did anyone ever go with you?” That could narrow down the field of mains.

  “Why? Do you have a suspect?”

  “I’ve got several.”

  “Like who?”

  I sigh again. “This conversation would be better in person.”

  “Just give me one name. I bet I can help eliminate a suspect or two.”

  “Camille…”

  “What?” she screeches in my ear. “No way! She’s my best friend, Ian. She’d never…” Her voice has gotten quiet until she says, “Wait! It can’t be her because she used to go to break with me.”

  “Every day?”

  “Most days. It was our girl-talk time.”

  Hell, I don’t even want to know what that means. “Fine. Let’s assume that Camille isn’t involved; who else knew your schedule? Who else went for coffee with you?”

  “Trent. Sometimes.”

  Trent? “Alone?”

  “Yes, but sometimes the three of us would go.”

  “How often?”

  “How often what?”

  “How often would you and Trent go alone?”

  “Oh, um...” she sounds nervous. “Once or twice.”

  “A month?”

  “No. A week.”

  She went out for coffee once or twice a week with Trent? “Were you seeing Trent? Romantically?”

  “No. Of course not. We were just friends.”

  Why do I find that hard to believe? “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say Camille and Trent aren’t involved. If that’s the case, who else would want to frame you? Kim?”

  “I can’t picture Kim doing anything like that. She’s got he
r hands full with her daughter.”

  “Daughter? My background research on Kim didn’t list any children.”

  “Well, that’s because it’s really her niece. Her sister died in an accident and Kim was the only living relative.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “A couple years ago.”

  “It still wouldn’t preclude her from setting you up. It may give her even more reason to take the money. Kids are expensive.”

  “I thought the embezzlement started four years ago. If that’s true, why would Kim need money for her niece prior to two years ago?”

  True. Agatha’s good at this. “Coincidence?” And instinct. Kim doesn’t seem to like me very much and I don’t know why.

  “Coincidence?” she chuckles. “There’s no such thing.”

  “What about the fact her office is across from yours? She’d be able to keep an eye on you. She’d know when you were away from your desk.” It’d be risky for the thief to assume she was gone at that time every single day. They’d need to have an eye on her. Which leads me to Kim.

  “True, but Kim? That one doesn’t feel right.”

  “Then who does?”

  “That’s just it, I can’t think of anyone who’d want to do this to me? Well…” she scoffs, “except for Drake. He hated me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Call it a hunch.”

  A hunch? She’s not telling me something.

  “I need to go, Ian. Can we talk about this later?”

  “Sure, honey. We’ll talk later.”

  “Okay. Have a good night, Ian.”

  Well, shit. “You too. Bye, Agatha.

  “Bye.”

  Yes, I know this is wrong, but I’m not doing it to be a creeper. I’m doing it to make sure she’s safe. Following Agatha from her home all the way to Flagstaff sounds a bit crazy but trust me, I’ve done worse. Try tracking a serial killer. Wow, that came out wrong. I’m not insinuating Agatha is in any way a serial killer. I am worried about her being out on her own. What if she actually encounters a serial killer? What? It could happen.

  It’s almost dusk which means soon, darkness will help obscure me. I stay back two or three cars once we get into Flagstaff city limits. I’m close enough to see when she turns. When she pulls into a hotel parking lot, I nearly choke. This is a date. She’s meeting someone at a hotel, for fuck’s sake. “Don’t overreact, Burke.”

  As soon as she steps out of her car, I sigh in relief. She’s wearing the same outfit she wore the night she broke into the H&S anniversary party. The only difference? She’s not wearing a wig and she’s got on flat shoes instead of heels. Agatha moves toward the back entrance of the hotel where there’s a truck with a logo on the side that reads Class Act Catering. The same company that worked the H&S party. “What are you doing here, Agatha?” I mutter to myself. Is she following another lead?

  Instead of following her through the back, I decide to move to the front of the hotel. From there I should be able to inquire about any and all functions happening in their party rooms. At the front desk, I see small signs in the lobby instructing visitors where various events are taking place. For example, the Johannes wedding reception is in the Concord Ballroom while another sign lists a business meeting in Conference Room A.

  My gut says she’s working the wedding, so I start there. Following the signs to the space, I see the doors to the room are closed. Quietly, I pull the door open and peer inside. The room is quite large, and it’s filled with white-linen-covered round tables. It looks like they each seat eight people. I quickly count the number. Twenty-five tables plus a head table for the bridal party. It reminds me of my own wedding. It was a similar set up, with most of the guests being agents and others who worked at the Bureau. The night was sort of a blur. Catherine planned the entire thing on her own. One of her complaints about me was my disinterest in wedding planning. Something she reminded me of whenever possible.

  In retrospect, Catherine and I were young. I was twenty-nine, she was thirty. Okay, so I guess we weren’t that young. It’s probably because at forty-one, I feel old as hell now and my marriage seems like it was a million years ago. Honestly, I’m not sure why I did it. She was hot as fuck––the sexiest woman I’d ever met. Plus, she was a better shot than me. Hell, she was a better agent than me. I loved that about her. Until I didn’t.

  Shaking off those memories, I step into the room and slide to the left into a dark corner. From here, I’ll be able to see if Class Act Catering is, in fact, working this event. It doesn’t take me long to spot one of the crew in the same dark pants, white shirt, red tie ensemble. “This is it,” I say softly to myself. Scooting further into the corner, I do my best to blend into the background. One by one, I watch the catering staff scurry around like mice in a cheese factory. Mice in a cheese factory? I chuckle to myself at that one.

  I’m about to change spots when I hear someone hiss near my ear. “Ian!”

  I jump. Startled. I realize that she snuck up on me like a little ninja. If I were still in the Bureau, I’d be fucking dead. Literally and figurative. I’m losing my fucking touch. “Oh, hey there.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she snaps.

  I stare down at her in her irate state. Her mouth is opening and closing like a fish. Her little hands are clenched into mighty fists are on either side of her hips and I could swear she’s tapping one foot on the ground. I want to laugh but she’s seriously pissed. “Ian. I asked you a question. What. Are. You. Doing. Here? Are you following me?” She looks down at her feet for a second adding, “I knew someone was following me from Page. It could feel it.”

  Might as well come clean. “That was me, yes.” Fuck. I’m losing my touch. Have I said that already?

  “Why?”

  “You wouldn’t tell me what you were doing. I was worried. I thought you were going to put yourself at risk again. Who’re you looking for at this wedding, anyway?”

  “At risk? Who am I looking for?” She sounds flabbergasted. “No one.” She runs her palm over the top of her head. Looking back toward the others in her crew she says, “I’m working.”

  “Working? As in working with the catering company?”

  “Yes. She liked my work the other night.” She gives me a small smile then shrugs. “I need the money.” She pauses again then looks me in the eye. “Don’t tell anyone. I’d like to keep this on the down-low. I’m sort of embarrassed I’ve got to wait tables again like I did in high school and college. Not that it’s a bad thing. I feel lucky to have a job at all. It’s just…my life is regressing at a fantastical rate and I’d prefer not to have to explain my predicament to anyone I know.”

  That was a lot to take in, but I’ve got to ask. “You’re not here to investigate?”

  She slowly shakes her head. “No. I’m just working, and I need to get back to it which means you need to scram.” She turns to walk away.

  “Scram?” Jesus, I think this girl was born in the wrong decade.

  “Yeah, you know what that means? It means Go. Home.”

  “Sure. Right. Yeah. I’ll take off now that I know you weren’t private dicking again.”

  Her face flushes to a hot pink. “I so regret saying that to you now.”

  With a chuckle I say, “Oh, I don’t. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.” And that’s abso-fucking-lutely true. This woman makes me smile. “Talk to you later?”

  “Sure.”

  She probably assumes I mean in a day or two. “Not this time, sweet Agatha.” This time I plan on hanging back tonight making sure she’s safe. Hell, I might even get a free dinner out of the deal. That’d be nice. I’m really tired of fast food.

  Chapter 19

  Agatha

  Why is he here? Every time I turn around, he’s there. I could have sworn I saw him talking to the bride and groom and I know I saw him eating the steak option at table twenty. How is he getting away with that? Did he tell them he’s a guest? A wedding crashe
r? A secret agent?

  “Geesh,” I say, wiping the sweat from my brow. We’ve all just cleared the dessert dishes and now, while the best man and maid of honor give speeches, we’ll be behind the scenes washing dishes, packing up, and loading the truck. I check my watch and wince. My feet hurt even though I’m wearing flats. I borrowed them from Sadie, but they hurt like a mo-fo. If I’m going to do this job for a while, I’m going to have to splurge and buy myself some black sneakers.

  “Agatha?”

  I turn to see Beth approach. “The drunken dancing has started which means we can begin to clear the rest of the tables.” We’d left water glasses and the dessert plates on the tables until they were finished.

  “Will you clear tables twenty through twenty-five?”

  “Sure thing.” I hope what’s-his-name is gone now. Taking a large oval tray, I walk out the door and work my way around the ballroom until I’m at table twenty. He’s still here. I don’t know why I’m surprised. When he spots me, he smiles but doesn’t engage, thank goodness. I unfold the metal tray stand that was leaning against one wall and set the large tray on top. One by one, I round the table picking up small plates, silverware, and water glasses. At Ian’s spot, I reach out, leaning close to him. He smells nice. It’s either cologne or manly soap. Whatever it is, it’s musky and a little citrusy. Just as I’m about to take his water glass, he touches my wrist. Next, I feel him lean toward me and his breath tickles my ear as he says softly, “I’d like to keep that, please, beautiful.”

  I hesitate for a moment. My thoughts are all jumbled. Okay. First off, when he touched me just now, I felt a zing. That’s not good. Secondly, he called me beautiful. That’s bad too. Be strong, Aggie. I give myself a mental head-slap. “The sooner we clear the tables, the sooner we’re done.” I say as quietly as I can without looking at him directly. I can’t be this close to him and look at him.

  “Fine.” He pulls his hand away and it makes me a little sad.

  “You should go,” I say next.

  “No.”

  Standing upright, I look him right in his icy blue eyes. Gah! He’s making me so mad. “Why not? I’m not going to embezzle cake,” I snap.