Agatha Page 5

  “That’d be great. I need witnesses.”

  “Sure thing, Aggs. I’ll be there.”

  When I think we’re about to hang up, Violet adds, “I can’t believe you wore a disguise and snuck into that party.” Her voice takes on an air of pride. “You’ve got cojones, sis.”

  “Honestly, I can’t believe I did it either. Desperate times and all that.”

  “Next time call me, and I’ll help you. It could have been dangerous, Aggie.”

  Dangerous? Shoot, I hadn’t even considered that. “True.”

  “Whoever stole a million bucks isn’t messing around.”

  “True. Okay. Yeah. I’ll call you.”

  Violet is really getting into my case. It’s exciting. “Did you look at either of the thumb drives?”

  “Not yet. I’m nervous about the one I found in the box.”

  “Don’t try to open that one. I’ve got an old laptop we can use. If there’s a virus on it, my old dinosaur of a computer can check it. No big deal if I have to recycle it afterwards.”

  “I’ll come to the bakery early if you want to bring that laptop. We can check it out before I meet Ian.”

  “Ian,” she sighs. “I’ve always liked that name. It’s Irish for John.”

  I choose to ignore her wistful sigh. I’m not prepared to have feelings about Ian one way or the other. This is strictly business. Serious business. “Cool. Okay, I’m going to bed. Catering is exhausting work.” I laugh. “Oh, did I tell you the caterer offered me a job?”

  “No. Serious?”

  “Serious. I may have to take her up on it. Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

  “You could always ask Dad.”

  “No way.” That man still works night and day for us. He’s helped each of us along the way and now it’s his turn to have some fun. “If I have to work fast food, I will. Dad has done enough for me.”

  “He’d love to help you.”

  “I know.” I feel the burn of tears once again. Holding them at bay, I whisper. “That’s because he’s the most amazing dad in the world.”

  “Yeah,” she says simply. “Yeah.”

  “Love you, Vi. See you tomorrow.”

  “You too.”

  Chapter 8

  Ian

  I’ve been sitting outside Sadie Cakes Bakery since eight this morning in my company car, a nondescript black Ford Taurus. The car windows are tinted just dark enough to obscure me to any passersby. I’ve watched as the constant in and out of foot traffic at the bakery has finally slowed to a crawl. The business seems to be thriving, especially first thing in the morning. My stomach growls. I’d sure love a Danish right about now. Checking my watch, I decide to head inside. It’ll give me a chance to order some coffee and breakfast before Agatha Palmer arrives. Grabbing my laptop case, I step out of the car and onto the pavement.

  The second the door opens I smell baked goodness and smile. The place is damn cute. The walls are painted in light blue and white stripes. There are three small round tables with chairs in the front part of the store near the large plate-glass window. Black and white photos in ornate white frames hang on one wall, from top to bottom. I step closer to the images and recognize Agatha right away. It’s Agatha at age fourteen or fifteen, if I had to guess. She’s got braces on her teeth but that doesn’t stop her from grinning at whoever’s taking the picture. She was adorable back then, and she’s beautiful now. Quickly scanning the other photos, I see Agatha in quite a few, along with other girls who look like her. There’s a man in one hugging another sister. “Must be Dad,” I mumble to myself. I glimpse another, much smaller photo. Leaning in, I’d bet money it’s Agatha with a woman I don’t recognize. Her mother? She’s very pretty. I can see the resemblance. Agatha looks a lot like the other woman.

  As I’m about to step over to look at a set of shelves covered in jars and other knick-knacks, I hear a quiet voice ask, “Sorry to keep you waiting. Can I help you?”

  “Sure,” I say, stepping up to the glass case at the front of the small shop. Peering inside, I salivate at the selection. Confession—I’ve got a sweet tooth a mile long. If I could, I’d eat cookies, cakes, and candy for every meal. But I can’t do that. I work out almost every day of the week just to balance out my penchant for junk food. Adding more sweets to the mix would be impossible to overcome. Luckily, I skipped breakfast today so when in Rome… “I’d like a glazed cinnamon twist and…” I hum to myself as I look through the first glass case filled with every donut imaginable. Scooting over to the other case, I spy Danish, cupcakes, brownies, croissants, and scones. “A cherry Danish, and one of those chocolate croissants, please.”

  Standing to my full height, I finally look at the woman behind the counter. She’s got to be one of the sisters. I know it’s not Sadie because I saw her photo on the Sadie Cakes Bakery website when I was doing my background check on Miss Palmer. This one is tall with reddish-blonde hair. “Can I also get a large coffee?”

  “Sure. Is this for here or to go?” Her voice is so soft, almost a whisper.

  “Here, please.”

  “If you’d like to have a seat, I’ll bring it out to you.”

  “Great.”

  I walk to the table furthest from the door and wait. My stomach growls again just as she places a porcelain plate, decorated with tiny blue flowers, covered with all three of my sweet treats on top. Next, she brings over a ceramic mug filled with coffee. “Free refills,” she says softly. “Would you like cream? Sugar?”

  “No thanks. This looks great.” I pull a napkin from the table-top dispenser and dig in, starting with the cinnamon twist. Biting into the soft, moist treat, I squeeze my eyes shut and moan way too loud.

  “That good?”

  I glance up and see Agatha Palmer looking delectable in some tight yoga legging thingies, an oversized Arizona State sweatshirt, sneakers, and a smirk. “Better than good.”

  “I’ll pass that along to my sister.”

  “Which one?” I nod toward the sister behind the counter. “Sadie, or the one pretending to be busy over there?”

  “Sadie.” She pulls the chair out and sits. “That’s Violet. And yes, she’s my backup.”

  “Backup? You a cop?”

  “Ha! Funny.”

  Standing back up, she says something to Violet. I watch as her sister grabs a muffin out of the case and plates it onto a smaller version of mine. Sitting back down, Agatha tears off a small piece of muffin and pops it in her mouth. I watch her in silence. Her mouth is perfect. Her lower lip is slightly plumper than her top lip but that’s okay. I love to suck on a plump bottom lip now and then.

  Shit. Why the fuck am I going there? She’s a goddamn suspect. But, damn it, she’s so pretty and her skin looks so soft. I’ve yet to see her in much makeup, which I like a lot. Today, her hair is pulled back in a ponytail that reaches her shoulders. It’s long but not too long. It’s also a shiny reddish-blonde color. It looks almost as soft as her skin. I’ve fantasized about this woman way too much over the last few weeks. Now that I’m up close and personal with her again, I know I won’t get much sleep anytime soon. Reaching toward me, she pulls a napkin from the dispenser. I get a whiff of her scent. It’s subtle and sweet too. Fuck, my dick is in trouble.

  As Violet brings Agatha a cup of tea, I say, “Ready to start?”

  “Sure.” She shrugs. “I have no idea why we’re here in the first place.”

  “I thought we’d share some information with one another.”

  “Share information? I suppose you want me to go first.” She rolls her pretty gray eyes.

  “No, I’ll go first.”

  “Great.” She leans back in her chair, dainty porcelain teacup in hand. “Begin.”

  I chuckle because she’s damn cute when she’s bossy. “I don’t think you did it.”

  Rolling her eyes again, she sets the cup down with a clink. “I already know that.”

  “Fine. How ‘bout this? We suspect whoever did it used your computer.”
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br />   Sitting up straight her eyes grow large and round. “How? How do you know that?”

  “From the information we’ve gathered from the network, each transaction, each invoice, was paid from your terminal.”

  “That can’t be.” She scoots closer to the table. “Unless it was done after hours and they had my username and password.”

  “About that…”

  “What?” she snaps.

  “Using p-a-s-s-w-o-r-d-1-2-3 is a terrible idea.”

  “Well,” she huffs. “My username is clever.”

  I arch my brow, “A-g-a-t-h-a-8-9?”

  “So? Lots of people use the year they were born for their usernames,” she says defiantly.

  “I know.” I bite into the chocolate croissant and nearly come. “Fuck, your sister can bake.”

  “I know,” she says.

  “She single?” I laugh with my mouth full.

  Crossing her arms over her ample chest, she scowls at me. “No.”

  That’s okay, I kind of like this Palmer sister. She’s spunky. “Too bad.” I shrug. “So, back to the point I was making. They used your computer during the day. Weekdays.”

  “That’s just not possible, Ian.”

  Damn, I like it when she says my name. “Anything’s possible, Agatha.”

  “I’m always at my desk and I never take time off.” She stares at the table, then back up at me. “Well, I’ve taken a day here and a day there for personal things. Did it happen then?”

  “No.” I went over the dates of each transaction. They only ever occurred on the days she was working. “You were always there.”

  Slapping her hand on the table she shouts, “That’s impossible! How often did it happen––where they paid the dummy invoices?”

  “Several times a month. Now, tell me something.”

  “Several times a month,” she mutters absently. Looking back up at me she answers, “Tell you what?”

  “What was on that thumb drive?”

  “I told you. My invoices.”

  “Did you look at them?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Always.”

  Sighing, she runs a hand over the top of her head. “I’m afraid to.”

  “If you didn’t do anything, what’s there to be afraid of? Do you have it with you?”

  She looks over at her sister. They say nothing but seem to communicate anyway. Violet steps out from behind the counter and hands Agatha the blue thumb drive. Setting it on the table, I pull out my laptop and bring it to life. “I promise we’re only looking at the file names.”

  Agatha nods and stands from her chair to come around the table and stand behind me. Plugging in the small device, I watch for the icon to appear on my computer. Double clicking, I see the contents of the thumb drive appear on my screen in list form. There are at least three hundred files here.

  “What are we looking for?” she asks so close to my ear I can feel her breath on me. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine.

  “Something out of the ordinary.”

  She leans further over my shoulder, reading through the list. “Do you know the names of the dummy companies?”

  “Yes.”

  Turning her head slightly, she looks at me warily, but I can’t think about that. All I can think about is the fact that she’s about two inches away. “And what would those be?” she asks sarcastically.

  “Palmer Textiles is one.”

  Standing up suddenly, she rubs her hands over her face. Looking at me coldly she sputters, “You’re screwing with me.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “What were the other names? Agatha’s Rubber Company? Aggie’s Shoe Box Conglomerate?”

  I look at her but say nothing. She’s close.

  “You’re shitting me,” she squeaks. “Like I’d be so frigging stupid to create businesses in my own freaking name!” she shouts. Growling loudly, she throws her hands in the air. “Violet!” she shouts again.

  I hadn’t noticed Violet was no longer nearby. My focus has been on Agatha. She’s putting my skills to the test. I always know what the room is doing.

  Moments later Violet and Sadie run out from behind swinging doors. “What?” says Sadie, breathless.

  “Listen to this,” Agatha pants. “Whoever did this had the audacity to name the companies Palmer Textiles and…” She turns to me. “What are the other ones?”

  “AGG Synthetics and A.P. Leather Company.”

  “You’re shitting me,” snaps Sadie.

  I shake my head. There’s one other company but I’ll keep that to myself for now. The ladies look like they’re going to blow a gasket over those three.

  “Wow, they must think you’re a fucking idiot,” Sadie snarls. Turning to me she places her hands on her hips, “Who are you?”

  “Ian.” She leans her head forward like she wants more, so I add, “I’m helping Agatha.”

  “That remains to be seen,” snaps Agatha.

  I guess it does. “Let’s look through these files and see what we’ve got.”

  “You can just do a search.” She leans back over me, typing in the letters A and G. When several invoices appear with the name AGG Synthetics, I hear her gasp. Not only that, she rests her hand on my shoulder as she clicks in the file. “Oh, my god,” she mumbles. “This one is for over five thousand dollars.”

  I reach out and click one of the other invoices. “This one is sixty-two hundred.”

  Without looking up she asks, “Are all the amounts under ten thousand?”

  “Yes.”

  Standing upright, she’s still got her hand on my shoulder. I like it.

  “It’s because I was authorized to pay up to ten thousand without Kim’s approval.”

  Kim was her supervisor in the H&S accounting department.

  “I know.”

  Looking down at me, her face has fallen. Gone is the spirited, defiant girl I saw just a few minutes ago. “I’m screwed.”

  “It may look like that but if you tell me what you know and let me ask you a few questions, maybe we can figure this out. Together.”

  Chapter 9

  Agatha

  I’m so screwed.

  “Let’s do this,” Ian says as he ejects my thumb drive.

  “What?”

  “Let’s either go to your house or my hotel room and work through what we’ve got.”

  Is he joking? I look at him but remain silent and still. Hopefully, he’ll get the hint.

  “Hello? You there, Agatha?” he says, waving a large hand in front of my face.

  Why do I like it when he says my name? I should hate it. He’s, essentially, the enemy.

  “I’m here.”

  “Well? Do you want to figure this out or not?”

  Damn, he’s bossy. “I do. Of course I do.” But I’ve sort of lost my will to live. They used my name in each of the phony companies. What a shitty thing for the thief to do. They were out to get me from the start.

  “Your place or mine?” he says with a smirk.

  “Ugh. Seriously?” I say snottily, even though there’s a part of me, way deep down inside, that likes his innuendo. The man is definitely sexy––for an older guy.

  “Sorry,” he says looking sheepish. In a quiet voice he tries again, “Do you want to work on this for an hour or two? I’ve got to get back to H&S after lunch.”

  “Sure. Let’s go to my house.” Looking at him crossly, I add, “I know you know where it is.”

  “I’m going with you.” We both turn to see Violet removing her blue and white striped apron. “Three heads are better than two.”

  Not only that, she’s my back-up. “Great.” I turn to Ian. “She’s super smart.”

  “Awesome.”

  Interesting. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was sarcasm.

  Violet and I beat Ian back to my place. Luckily, it’s clean now, but I still find myself nervously straightening up the pill
ows on my sofa and secretly wishing I had some lemonade and cookies. Internally groaning to myself, I flop onto the couch, laying my head on one of my newly straightened pillows. “Vi? What am I doing?”

  “Nesting.”

  Attempting to sit up so I can glare at her, I realize I’ve got no core strength and have to grab onto the edge of the couch to push myself up all the while mumbling, “I need to work out.” Once I’m sitting up, I say, “Nesting? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She shrugs. “Nothing.”

  “Vi, seriously. What did you mean?”

  With a sigh she says, “You like him.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yeah, you do. He’s handsome.”

  “Handsome? He’s old.”

  “He’s very handsome, okay? And he’s not that old,” Violet says with her hands on her hips. “I’d say he’s late thirties, early forties. Besides, he likes you too.”

  “He does not!” I say, standing abruptly. “Take that back.”

  Violet releases a giggle. “No.”

  “Vi…” I’m interrupted by a knock on the door.

  Stomping toward it, I grip the knob and wrench the door open. I look up to see Ian holding his computer case along with a brown paper sack. I take a moment to give him the once over. Violet is right. He’s handsome. Tall and lean, I can tell there are muscles beneath his dark suit jacket. It’s open at the front and his white dress shirt sits snugly over his chest and stomach—his very flat stomach. I quickly scan lower and make a mental note that most of his height, I’d say close to six foot two or three, is in his legs. When my eyes meet his blue orbs, I see smile lines on the corners. His nose is strong and straight. Not too big, mind you. His hair is thick. Cut short on the sides, it brings out the silver at his temple. The top is longer and dark. It’s a good look for him. He should be in a hair ad for older guys. His face is clean shaven, which draws my eyes right to his full lips. Full lips that are smiling, revealing straight, white teeth. Uh, oh. I think I’ve been caught.

  I hold my breath expecting him to call me out. Instead, he lifts up the brown sack and says, “I brought lunch.”